Evanescence of Life
by Krew
Summary: AU of sixth year, Severus Snape is discovered as a spy, and is trapped at Hogwarts. His former life has disapeared, but times are too dagerous to explore his new possible path, which includes family he never knew he had.
1. It was a Bright and Sunny Day

**Disclaimers and Notes**

First of all, this Disclaimer will be for the entire story, so please pay attention.

I am not J.K. Rowling. I have never been J.K. Rowling. I will never get to be J.K. Rowling, because there is only one of her, and I alas, am not she. Therefore, this story is not intended to infringe on the copyright of JKR's esteemed novels, or the movies made by Warner Brothers. I am making no money from this story and I am intending this story merely for the purpose of entertainment.

Secondly, I have fallen to the cliché that if you cannot beat them, join them. In all my reading of fanfiction, I have run across many stories dealing with Severus Snape, and his family, or lack thereof. While I have enjoyed reading some of the stories where the sister, brother, cousin, daughter, son, niece, nephew, or other member of his family appears and becomes part of Snape's life, many caused Snape to change his personality dramatically, sometimes so much that he was no longer recognizable as the snarky potions master we know and love. So, here is my attempt to portray my favorite character accurately, while weaving my own story.

Third, there are situations in this story that involve abuse and the ill-treatment of children. It should go without saying that I do not condone abuse, murder, or other dark actions, but if you are wondering, be assured I don't. They are necessary to my story however, so they must appear. If this bothers you, you should select another fanficiton, probably one that does not carry the rating of M. It is there for a reason.

Fourth, I have read so much fanfiction over the last five years that sometimes I cannot recall what is canon and what is fanfiction. I have tried to stick to the canon, and have given credit where it is due.

Finally, I hope you enjoy. I have been crafting this story for several years, and while it is still growing and changing, I have a destination in mind. This is to assure you that I will not abandon my story, or ramble about with no plan for chapters on end. If you would like to share your response to the story, I invite you to review, and I will respond to you. Though, I will warn you, undeserved flames will be consigned to the fireplace to roast marshmallows, as there is no other productive use for them.

Krew

**Evanesce: **_verb. _Fade away; disappear gradually; vanish

**Evanescence of Life**

**1. It was a Bright and Sunny Day**

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, but Severus Snape wasn't paying attention. He had bigger things on his mind than blue skies or warm sunshine. His black robes swirled around his legs as he walked to the Apparation point.

For two years he had been trying to return to Voldemort's good graces so he could resume his spying, but he had been unable to get near the inner circle. Actually, he hadn't been able to get near any circle. When the Dark Lord summoned him, it was as one of the lowest, newest recruits, fit for the most demeaning tasks, and not trusted with any information beyond what every Death Eater knew. His reports to the Order had been sketchy at best, but that would hopefully change soon. He had a personal meeting with Voldemort the next day; it might be his opportunity for reinstatement. That it could also very well be his opportunity for a slow and painful death, he tried to ignore. That was the chance one took when asking to meet personally with Voldemort.

"Severus?" Snape made a face before turning around. He had almost escaped.

"Yes, Albus?" The headmaster was striding across the lawn; with the_ I have a favor to ask you that you may not like_ look on his face.

"Severus, I have a favor to ask you." Snape smirked slightly. Not that Dumbledore's face was that hard to read, but he had been right.

"What is it, Albus?"

"I was wondering if you could call on a prospective student after you finish your errands in London."

"Headmaster, I don't know that I am the best representative for Hogwarts." _I'd scare the family out of their wits, and that's if they _don't_ know who I am_, he thought.

"You are the best in this case." The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was beginning to send a feeling of worry through Snape. What was the joke he was missing?

"Who is it, another Death Eater family?"

Dumbledore grimaced at the thought.

"No thank you, we've quite enough of those." Dumbledore peered over his glasses at Snape. "Severus, it's your family. Your niece."

Snape jerked back as though struck. "Who? Albus, I have no family."

"The student in question is the daughter of your half-sister, Severus."

"Ann has a child? One who's old enough for Hogwarts? Never mind, Albus, I haven't seen Ann for twenty years, at her request. I'm not the right person to go. Send someone else."

"Severus, no one else has the time to do it." Now the look in Dumbledore's eye was one of disappointment and reproach.

"And I do? Albus, that's very insulting"

"Severus, you're whining."

"I'm not, Albus; you don't understand. Make someone else do it, or go yourself. I'm not going."

"Yes, Severus, you are. I am not asking you to go, I'm telling you to. You don't have to mend the relationship with your sister, or plan to have Christmas dinner with them. Just go and see if your niece got her letter, and see if they have any questions. We should have heard from them by now." Albus turned and walked away before Snape could protest again.

Snape sighed in defeat, then realized that he had an entirely different and valid excuse.

"Albus!" He shouted, "I don't even know where they live!"

Dumbledore's voice floated back across the grounds, voicing no hint of the satisfied smirk on his face.

"23 Upper Oldfield Park, in Bath"


	2. Evanescence of His Past

**2. Evanescence of his past**

Snape kept his bad mood all through the shops and streets of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. People took one look at his face and got out of his way. Service had never been faster in the shops, and the crowds melted in front of him. He made his final purchase and decided to stall with dinner. He sat in a shadowed corner of the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a bowl of Tom's barley stew and a pint of Guiness. The food arrived swiftly, and he was left to brood in peace.

X X X

When his father had left, Severus was eight years old. Though he had never treated them well, his mother was made bitter by his desertion. She had expected her family to help her find her husband, but they had been silent, preferring his absence to his abusive presence. In revenge, she left the wizarding world forever. She had wasted little time making a new life for herself. In two very short weeks, she went from a powerful witch who could brew any potion known to the perfect Muggle woman, who knew nothing about magic. They moved from their house in Wizarding London to the Muggle countryside. She snapped her wand, sold her cauldron and potion supplies, and tossed everything magical, from Severus's toy broom to the wizarding pictures of her family. She took a job as a cook in a pub and changed her name to Gwen Slate. Severus was forced to answer to Stephen, a name he forever despised.

The men she began to date were Muggles as well, men with no spark of creativity or magic in them. When she brought John home to meet Severus, he knew he was in trouble. John was a Muggle tax advisor. He had no sense of humor and could not see magic, even when it happened in front of his nose. Severus knew; he tried. His only redeeming quality was that he was completely devoted to Gwen. They married quickly, and John and his son Tim moved in. Severus's life went downhill from there. John always called him Steve, and Severus realized there was a name he could hate more than Stephen. He also insisted that Severus had no discipline because he refused to play sports and would rather read in his room. He would lecture Severus constantly about his _bad_ choices and would assign him long lists of chores to "get him up and off his duff." Tim was not much better. He was one year younger than Severus. The first time he had walked into Severus's bedroom, he had sneered at the various posters of dragons and Merlin that were hanging on the walls. Severus had searched long and hard to find Muggle posters that looked anything like the real pictures his mother had thrown away. He did not appreciate anyone looking down on his things.

"What is your problem?" he snapped at Tim.

"Dragons are fake, wizards are stupid, and you are a loser to like either of them."

"Who asked you?"

Tim had sneered again and left the room, kicking his football. Their relationship had never improved. All Tim ever read were football and rugby scores, and he took every opportunity to poke fun at the books Severus read.

He spent two years gritting his teeth and biding his time. The only bright spot was when his baby sister, Ann, was born. Finally his letter to Hogwarts arrived. Severus had been waiting for the post every morning, hoping for it to come. He smuggled it inside, so that no one else would see the parchment envelope addressed to Severus Snape. He waited until his mum was putting the baby down for a nap and then slipped her the letter.

"I'm going to Hogwarts mum," he told her very seriously.

"If you got the letter you must. But Stephen,"

"Severus," he interrupted.

"Stephen, John and Tim can't know that you are a wizard. I won't have any magical things stored here at the house, and you cannot refer to anything magical or unusual in your letters home."

"Why do you hate magic so much mum?"

"What good did the magical world ever do me? You will be a part of it, but I will never join them again. I just hope that your sister stays free from them."

"Mum, you make magic sound like a disease. This is the only thing I've ever wanted. Can't you be happy for me?"

"Stephen, this is all I can give you. I'm sorry."

Severus turned away, clenching his fists. He would do it all alone; he didn't need anyone's help. The next morning, he found a letter on his bedside table, with a small gold key.

_Stephen, I am sorry that I cannot be happy that you are going to Hogwarts. I gave up on that whole world a long time ago, but it is not fair for me to brush off your dream. I kept the old Gringotts vault open, because I always knew you would need it. The vault is in your name, and the gold is yours; do with it what you will. John and Tim are going to a rugby game tomorrow and will be gone all day. I'll take you to London to get your things. I know that you will do well at school; you succeed at whatever you put your mind to. I do love you my son, never forget that._

_Mum_

When he went out to breakfast, there was a large letter sitting by his plate. It was addressed to Stephen Slate, and was from Hogwarts School of Higher Learning.

"What is this?" He asked, very confused.

"It arrived in the post yesterday, Stephen; you must have missed it among the bills," his mother replied with a calm glance in his direction.

"What kind of a name is Hogwarts?" Tim asked, his customary sneer in place. He couldn't seem to manage any other expression when dealing with his stepbrother. Severus returned the sneer with a glare of his own and opened the envelope. Inside was a letter announcing that he had been selected as a student at the prestigious boarding school. If he accepted, he would attend school there for seven years, which would then prepare him for entrance to any university he chose. The deputy headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, would expect his reply no later than July 1. Also in the envelope was a full-color booklet, showing a large stone school with students in uniform studying on the lawn, playing rugby, and listening to professors lecture. There were statistics of the number of students attending, the average university preparatory scores, and the number of universities that offered complete scholarships to top students. Severus turned through the book, half amused, half confused. He knew that Hogwarts would be nothing like the pictures, but he wanted desperately to know where the book came from. John took the letter and looked it over.

"Hogwarts. I don't know that I've ever heard of such a school." He turned to his wife. "Have you?"

"Stephen's father graduated from there. I also had a friend that attended. She works at a research hospital now, in the biomedical field." Severus kept his mouth from dropping open by will alone. His mum never spoke of his father. What was going on here?

"Hmm," John mused. "Scotland is rather far away. Steve." Severus looked up at him quickly, his face questioning. "What do you think? This seems a little sudden to me, and I want you to think about your answer. Are you interested in going to a school so far from home? You are signed up to go to the one here in town. You could come home on weekends if you go there." Severus realized quickly how to get John on his side. Just mention money.

"When my counselor and I were going over my options for school, he offered to send my scores several different places. The best thing about Hogwarts, from what I remember, is that there are no tuition fees. I only have to buy supplies, like books and such. Plus, being able to get a full scholarship to university would be no bad thing."

"Why didn't you tell us about that, Steve?" John asked.

"I didn't hear anything, so I thought I hadn't made it in," Severus answered.

"July 1. That doesn't give us much time to decide. Let your mother and I talk about this a little. You do want to go, though?"

"Yes, yes, I do." John nodded and went back to his breakfast. Severus's mother shot him a swift glance of approval. He was getting very good at knowing how to manipulate people to make the choices he wanted them to make. He excused himself and went to his room to look at the booklet more and smirk where he wouldn't get into trouble. Later, his mother slipped into his room, closing the door behind her.

"Well?" He asked, putting down his favorite novel, _The Lord of the Rings_.

"You're going. Good job mentioning tuition and scholarships. John loved that."

"Plus, I am showing maturity and self-discipline by making long-term plans," Severus said, mimicking John's lecture tone.

"Stephen, don't mock your stepfather. We'll leave at 9 tomorrow for London."

"Mum, where did that letter come from? You didn't," he wiggled his fingers in the air, "did you?"

"No, I did not." She replied every bit of warmth leaving her face. "Don't ever accuse me of that. Ever."

"I'm sorry, mum, I didn't mean to make you mad."

"It's fine. Forget it." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I called in a favor from a man who works in the Muggle relation department of the ministry. They keep a few of those around for those students who come from Muggle families that won't accept magic. It allows them to have something to show relatives when they ask about the school. This is the only favor you get, Stephen. The rest is up to you."

"Thank you mum."

"Just don't slip, Stephen."

"I promise."

"I will hold you to your word. Make no mistake." Severus watched his mother as she left the room. As the door closed behind her, his eyes narrowed into a dark glare.

"I don't make mistakes. Have no doubt about that."

The next day, Gwen drove Severus to London. She parked the car in a public lot, and turned to Severus.

"Go into the Leaky Cauldron, the pub over there. Ask the owner, Tom, to let you into Diagon Alley. Go first to Gringotts Bank and get out some money, then go to the shops on the list to get your supplies. I will meet you back here in two hours. There is a map on the back on the list. Any questions?"

"You aren't coming with me?"

"Stephen, why do you even ask? I will be here in two hours. Don't be late."

Severus climbed out of the car and crossed the street without a backward glance. He entered the pub, and looked around the sparsely populated room. When his eyes fell on the barman, he crossed the room purposefully.

"Are you Tom?" He asked the man behind the bar.

"Yes, I am. How can I help you, young man?"

"Would you please let me into Diagon Alley?"

"First year at Hogwarts?"

"Yes sir." Tom came from behind the counter, and led Severus out the back door. He drew his wand and showed Severus the bricks he needed to press to gain entrance to Diagon Alley. When the entrance opened, Severus turned to Tom.

"Thank you for your help."

"My pleasure, young man."

Severus crossed into the alley, and reentered the wizarding world. If he'd had hopes of a trumpet fanfare, or a glowing light surrounding him, or at least someone recognizing him, they were soon dashed. No one seemed to notice the dark-haired boy among the crowds of children purchasing school supplies. The only person who had actually asked his name was the creepy old man who owned the wand shop, Ollivander.

"Ah, the son of Gwenhyfar ap Bryn and Alexander Snape, correct?" he had asked.

"Yes, I am." Severus answered, shaken that the man knew his parents. He'd been too unnerved to ask the man if he knew what had happened to his father. Two hours after he had entered the Leaky Cauldron, he exited, lugging three large bags that had been charmed by a shopkeeper to hold all of his purchases. His mother pulled the car up to the curb and jerked her head for him to enter. He put the bags in the boot of the car and climbed into the back seat.

"I got you a trunk and some other things, so if your stepfather asks, your supplies cost 40 pounds." They drove away but not far. At Kings Cross Station, they stopped again, and Gwen took out the new trunk.

"Pack your things now, we'll store them here." she said. Severus carefully packed his new things, and then his mother locked the trunk, handed him the key, and put the trunk into a storage locker. She handed that key to Severus as well, cautioning him not to lose it. She then drove him home, where, for the next two months, he bided his time, staying out of John's way, and secretly reading a couple of extra books he had picked up in Diagon Alley, books that promised respect and power to the reader. He learned the words and wand motions to many hexes and spells, committing them to memory, along with their effects. His wand was in London, but he prepared himself mentally.

The closer September 1st came, the stricter John grew. Though his relationship had never been good with his stepfather, his demands strained their relationship beyond all reconciliation.

Finally September 1st arrived, and Severus could leave. He was awake long before his alarm sounded, and was waiting in the kitchen when his mother came down the stairs. Breakfast was eaten quickly, and then Severus packed his last bag with things he would take on the train. His mum handed him a lunch, and then he faced his stepfather.

"Behave yourself, Steve. Stay out of trouble, respect your teachers, and apply yourself. I expect to see top marks, or you will find yourself going to school here in town. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Severus replied quietly. In his own mind a rebellious voice said 'just try and stop me from going, you bloody Muggle.' Tim did not even pretend to say good-bye. He and Severus just exchanged sneers as Severus climbed into the car. John and Tim were watching Ann while Gwen drove him to London. As he was climbing out of the car at the train station, his mother took his arm.

"Hold your head up high, my son. You are descended from two powerful wizarding families, and you belong to their world. Get your trunk, then when you get down on the platform, boldly walk into the wall between platforms nine and ten. Your ticket will let you onto the Hogwarts platform. Learn well, my son, for there are those who will take advantage of ignorance. Always ask yourself what the other person gets if you are offered something unexpected. You know how to manipulate people. Use those skills, because you will need them. Good-bye Severus." His true name fell from her lips like a benediction. It was the first time she'd said in three and a half years.

Severus hugged his mum quickly and then left without looking back. The next seven years taught him to lead a double life. At school his was Severus Snape, brooding Slytherin student that one dared not cross. His friendships were few but strong, and his rivals were many. He learned to use the spells he had learned in secret, especially against those who felt he was an easy target.

In the summer he would talk of playing rugby for the Green dorm, the house he lived in. The Serpents, his dorm's mascot, took the school cup three out of seven years. Two years the Red Lions took it, one year the Blue Ravens, and one very surprising year, the Yellow Badgers. He excelled in chemistry and mathematics, and despised history. He spent a great deal of time in the library, researching and writing papers, and his favorite activity outside of rugby was riding. His teachers were encouraging him to consider majoring in chemistry at Edinburgh University when he graduated.

He grew very adept at avoiding questions, or answering a different question than the one that was asked, without seeming to have changed the subject. At home, his mother watched him with suspicious eyes, especially when he was alone with Ann, afraid that he would break his promise to keep the world of magic from her. The gifts he bought for Christmas and birthdays were always subject to close examination, until they proved to be safe Muggle presents. He grew apart from his family, coming home as little as possible, visiting friends over the holidays as much as he could. He knew the day was coming when he would leave them forever.


	3. Beginning of the End

**3. Beginning of the End**

Snape was brought out of his memories when a dark figure approached his table. It was Aloysius Spratt. He was an obsequious, slimy man, a Death Eater who had taken advantage of the positions left open by recent arrests. Nothing showed Snape better how far he had fallen in the Dark Lord's eyes than seeing men like Spratt rising in the ranks, while he, former member of the inner circle, still waited for the Dark Lord's favor.

"What do you want?"

"I have a message for you, Snape. Your appointment for tomorrow has been rescheduled for Wednesday."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. We didn't want you to worry when we didn't call." With a smirk, Spratt walked away.

Lovely. The Dark Lord was playing games, and Snape had to figure out which game he was playing. It was either 'you left me, so until you have groveled enough, I will make your life miserable by dangling what you want just out of your grasp.' Or it was 'I know what you have done and I have to decide on the most painful way for you to die, so I'll let you live for another week.' Either way, it was bad news for Dumbledore's plans for Snape's future spying. Of course, the second game wasn't good news for Snape, either, but he had never expected to outlive the Dark Lord's return. He had forfeited old age and retirement long ago.

His thoughts returned to the past. The last time he had seen his half-sister was at his mother's funeral. He was sixteen years old, in his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had not realized that the proceeding summer would be the last time he stepped foot in his own home. It had been filled with fights. Fights with Tim, with John about fighting Tim, and with his mum for fighting with John. Most of his fights with Tim started innocently. At least, as innocently as a fight can begin. Tim would bait him about his apparent lack of friends, or his looks, or his summer homework, until Snape would lash out at him and they could roll around on the floor pummeling each other until Gwen or John broke them up. Gwen's response was always a lecture, followed by waiting in their rooms until John returned home from work. John's became a little more creative.

X X X

Severus closed his book with a sigh. The charm that made it look like a history of Ancient Greece was hard on his eyes. The letters wavered and blurred as people walked by, switching from Goblins to Grecians and back. He had finally finished the required section on the potion-brewing habits of the Black Goblins of Bulgaria, and that night he would write his three-foot parchment comparing them with the methods of the Romanian Vampires. If he wrote quickly, he would be able to finish and sleep in the same night.

Tim walked by and hit Severus on the back of the head.

"Finish with your make-up work yet, Steve? Good thing your school lets you finish all your classes in the summer, or Dad would never let you return. You'd fail every subject, wouldn't you?"

"It is unfortunate that you have so little room in your thick skull to think up creative insults. You came up with the summer school idea three years ago. It didn't bother me then, and it will continue to fail to do so now. Why don't you just drop it?"

"Oh, I see." Tim put on a snooty expression and drawled with a snobbish voice, "We are so unamused by the peasant. We are so far above him in brains and sophistication that he is a mere speck upon the window of our life."

"You said it, I didn't." Severus gathered up his books to take them to his room.

"You bastard! I'll get you for that!" Tim shouted at him.

"You don't know anything about my father, and you will not speak about him in any way." Severus's eyes became like blazing coals.

"I'll say anything I like about your father. He's the one that walked out on your mum, and hasn't tried to get in touch once in all these years. He might as well not exist. That's it, isn't it? He was some one-night stand that your mum blamed you on. You probably haven't a clue what he looks like because you've probably never seen him once. My dad took you in out of pity. But, if he'd had his way, you've been kicked out of here long ago. He never wanted you, you dirty bastard."

"Keep your vile mouth off my mum you filth-eating, piss-guzzling, bloody-minded, cowardly son of a bitch!" Severus threw his books to the side as Tim plowed into him. They crashed to the floor, throwing punches wildly, intent on murdering the other. Neither boy noticed Ann's frightened face peeking through the door or her cry for help as they broke two legs off an end table. What brought them to their senses was the bucket of scrub water that Gwen threw over them.

They both staggered to their feet, dripping and protesting their innocence.

"Tim said…"

"I was minding my own business and Steve just…"

Gwen held up a hand. She was literally vibrating with fury. In fact, the broken vases and knickknacks on the floor were starting to quiver as well. Severus knew that if she didn't rein back her anger, something would happen that she'd forever regret. He purposefully bumped the broken table, sending it crashing to the floor. That was enough to break Gwen out of her stasis and into voice.

"That is ENOUGH! I will not have you breaking my things, fighting in my house, or scaring my child. You will dry this floor, pick up this mess, and then go to your rooms! I don't want to see you again this day!" Her voice broke with the strength of her scream, and she whirled to leave the room. Severus and Tim were still standing frozen when she returned. She threw towels at Tim and the broom and dustpan at Severus. Neither boy said a word as they cleaned the room and then walked down the separate halls to their rooms. The whole house waited with bated breath for John's return from work.

It was the next morning, actually, when John came to Severus's door. He opened it without knocking and stared at the black eye that Severus was sporting.

"Basement, now," was all he said.

In silence Severus walked down to the basement behind John. When the door was closed, John sat in a chair facing the two boys. In addition to Severus's black eye, Tim's lip was split and puffy. They waited for several minutes for John to speak. The silence was so thick that when he finally did speak, both boys jumped.

"First of all, I don't care why you fought. I don't want to know why you fought. You will not try to explain why you fought. You will, however, both find work to pay for the things that you broke when you fought. Each of you is responsible for earning half of the money required to replace what you broke.

"Secondly, for two teen-aged boys that seem bent on killing each other, you show a remarkable lack of ability. So, your punishment for this fight, and any other fight you have is this." He pointed to two heavy punching bags that were hung in opposite corners of the basement. Severus and Tim looked at each other and then back at John. They were not sure what their response should be.

"Put on the gloves." There were two new pairs of bag gloves on the table. Severus and Tim put them on and faced John again.

"There are four punches in boxing. The jab, the cross, the uppercut, and the hook." John demonstrated each punch as he named it. "You are going to give me one hundred and fifty of each punch on each side with full power each time you fight. Begin." John sat down in his chair again. Tim and Severus again looked as each other, then at the bags, then at John. When they did not move from their places, John said sharply, "That was not a suggestion. It was an order. You owe me twelve hundred punches. Count out loud." Tim was the first to break the stillness. He went over to one of the bags and began angrily throwing right jabs at the bag, counting under his breath. Severus watched Tim for a moment, looked once more at John, and then walked over to his punching bag. He alternated his punches, counting clearly, and pacing himself, so that his punches landed with power long after Tim was struggling to lift his right hand to finish the first half of his punches on one side. Nevertheless, by the four hundred twenty-seventh punch, Severus felt as though his arms were going to fall off. He gritted his teeth and pictured a series of faces on the bag. Tim's face was what he aimed for with each right jab landing on his nose. Sirius Black's nose was the target for the left jab. Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the other students that made his life a living hell at Hogwarts each received their own personal punch as well. That gave him the energy to reach the nine hundred and sixty-fourth punch. The last three hundred thirty-six were pure torture. The only reason that he was able to lift either arm to punch was that he was seventy-five punches ahead of Tim. After the twelve hundredth punch he used his teeth to take off his gloves, carefully laid them on the table, and climbed the stairs. Luckily, the door handle was a lever so that he could open it with a knee, because his arms were beyond cramps, beyond movement. He pushed the door shut with his foot, walked to his room and collapsed on the bed.

That summer, Severus had to serve the 1200-punch punishment, as it was called, eight more times. He also began to use the bag between punishments, so that his arms grew strong and he began to fill in with muscle.

There was one other event of note that summer. Two weeks before leaving for school again, the family was eating dinner together. John looked up as Gwen finished serving the shepherd's pie and said, "We'll be having company tomorrow night for dinner."

"Really? Who, dear?" Gwen asked. It wasn't uncommon for John to bring home clients or work associates for dinner.

"New chap from work. Phillip Something-or-other. Scottish fellow. His son is leaving for Hogwarts this year, as well."

Severus choked on a mouthful of food. Under the cover of coughing, he stole a glance at Gwen. She had gone pale but seemed steady.

"How did that come up?" she asked quietly.

"He mentioned that he would be out of the office September 1 to take his son to the train for school. I asked what school, since Steve's is the only school that I've ever heard of that parents don't take their own children. Turns out that Phillip is a graduate of Hogwarts, as well. I was glad to hear of it, since I've not found anyone else in the business world that went there. We had a nice chat, and he'd like his son to meet you, so he has a familiar face on the train. They'll be here at 7 tomorrow evening."

"What dorm was he in? Did he say?" Severus asked to fill the silence that followed John's announcement.

"He was in the Green Dorm like you, called it something strange, Slithers In, or something like that. I didn't know what he meant, till he mentioned the color. He seemed a little surprised that they don't use the 'old names,' as he called them. His wife was in Blue, I think he said."

The rest of dinner Severus ate mechanically, frantically planning how to save his mother from discovery, get at least three wizards through a Muggle dinner, and keep the Muggles in his house from realizing that their dinner guests were not what they seemed. It was enough to give him insomnia, which did have the benefit of allowing him to finish all of his homework a fortnight early, something that never had happened before.

The next evening, Severus took up a lookout post on the front porch at 6:30. His entire plan rested on the willingness of Phillip Something-or-other, the Slytherin, his wife the Ravenclaw, and their son to listen to his plea. Just before 7 a beautiful black Porsche pulled up to the curb. 'Well, that's a good start,' thought Severus; no brooms, Portkeys, or Aparating arrivals. He walked quickly to the man climbing out of the car before his stepfather realized they had arrived. The man, dressed in a conservative suit, held out his hand to Severus.

"Phillip Murray. How do you do? You must be Steve, correct?"

"Yes, sir, I am. And can I say that it is very nice to meet you." Severus gratefully shook Phillip's hand.

"My wife, Eilis, and my son Sean," Phillip introduced the other two people getting out of the car, also in Muggle clothes.

The woman smiled. "You mean it is nice to meet wizards that know how to look like Muggles rather than wizards who don't."

"Well, actually, yes," Severus admitted. Phillip and Eilis both laughed, while Sean shrugged.

"I work for the Muggle relations department of the Ministry, making sure that wizards working in the Muggle World don't get charged twice for taxes. It's my job to blend in," Phillip explained matter-of-factly. Severus nodded as if he understood.

"You know, Steve," Eilis said quietly, "when we heard that you went to Hogwarts, I did some asking around of my friends, but no one seems to have heard of a Steven Smithson."

"That is because my real name isn't Steven, and Smithson is my stepfather's last name. My real name is Severus Snape, but don't use it here."

"Snape?" Eilis asked excitedly. "You don't mean that you mother is Gwenhwyfar Snape?"

"She was," Severus admitted, "but whatever you do, don't call her that. She goes by Gwen Smithson, and says her former name was Slate." He paused, then went on with a rush. "You also need to know that she's a Muggle now. Or, at least, she pretends to be one. She won't acknowledge your former acquaintance at all."

"Gwenhwyfar ap Bryn has stopped practicing? You don't mean completely. You couldn't mean that she has completely stopped practicing witchcraft?" Eilis looked shocked and inexplicably worried by his comment.

"For the last eight years," Severus assured her.

"Oh, dear," Eilis said. "This isn't good."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked.

"Nothing for you to worry about. I will have to speak with her, though," Eilis mused.

"Steven! Don't keep our guests on the front lawn all night," John called from the house.

"We're coming John," Severus called back, leading the way to the front door.

The dinner went very well, with John and Phillip talking about work, Tim asking Sean questions about himself (to see if all Hogwarts students were as abnormal as his stepbrother), until it was time for dessert. Eilis volunteered to help Gwen in the kitchen while the others went outside to enjoy the long summer light. After making sure that everyone was safely outside, Eilis cornered Gwen.

"Gwenhwyfar ap Bryn, you are a fool," she hissed.

"I do not know that name you speak, and I do not like being called a fool in my own home," Gwen retorted. She began scraping plates into the trash.

"You can bury your head under the sand as long as you like, but there are events that you cannot hide from," Eilis pressed. Gwen whirled on her.

"If you cannot be civil, you may leave my kitchen, and indeed my house!" she angrily stated.

"Have you ever heard the name Voldemort?" Eilis asked.

"No, should I have?"

"Gwen, he is an evil man who is out to kill Muggles, Muggle-born wizards, and wizards that sympathize with Muggles. You don't have a single ward on your house. He could walk right in and kill you all without breaking stride. You must protect yourself!"

"Oh, as your world protected me? Forget it, Eilis Conolly. I will not go back."

"Some Ravenclaw you are, Gwenhwyfar. Are you sure the Sorting Hat didn't name you Hufflepuff? Only one of them would stick by such a decision to their deaths."

"We have nothing more to say here." With that, Gwen snatched up the dessert tray, leaving Eilis to shake her head at the futility of her argument.

Outside, meanwhile, Phillip had been talking with John.

"We wouldn't mind taking Steve with us when we go down to London. Save you petrol and all. So long as you don't mind saying your good-byes here, that is."

"You would have to ask Gwen," John told Phillip. "She's the one that takes him each year, but I don't see why not. Would you mind?" he asked Gwen as she came out the door.

"Mind what?" she asked distractedly.

"If the Murrays took Steve to the train. You wouldn't have to drive or find a sitter for Ann," John explained. Gwen looked over her shoulder at Eilis Murray as the latter joined them in the garden.

"No, I don't mind at all," she said with her chin raised defensively.

Phillip quirked an eyebrow at Eilis, who shook her head minutely. They would have to talk later. The evening ended calmly, and the Murrays drove off in their Porsche.

The ride to Hogwarts that year was very different for Severus. First, he had young Sean in his usually empty car, giving him a distraction from his usual brooding. Sean was quiet and studious. Severus felt that he would be sorted into Ravenclaw, as his mother was but chose to reserve judgment. About an hour into the journey, the door slid open with a bang, and Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and James Potter swaggered in.

"Well if it isn't old Snivellus," sneered Black. "Got a new little playmate there, Snape?" His smirk implied the worst possible connotation.

"Gee, was that an invitation?" asked Sean innocently. "Thanks, but you seem to have a nice little ménàge'a'trois, and I wouldn't want to intrude." Black, like most adolescent boys, was extremely homophobic and was very touchy about others thinking him gay. He tried to rush the eleven-year-old but was held back by Potter and Pettigrew.

"I'll get you for that, you cocky little brat!" he yelled. Sean looked him up and down, then gave a sneer of his own that rivaled any Severus could give.

"I'd like to see you try," he challenged the older boy. Potter looked at him seriously.

"Making older enemies before you even reach Hogwarts is very foolish, boy," he warned.

"So is insulting an unknown quantity," Sean retorted. Severus slowly stood to face the steaming Black and the other two. He looked over the three boys, noticing that at last, he was physically a match for any of them.

"Sean Murray is under my protection. If I find you harassing him, I will make your life a living hell," he said coldly. Potter's eyes narrowed.

"Bold words, Snivellus."

"Back off, Potter. I'll not take it anymore from any of you." Severus found his hands clenched, ready for a fight. Potter and Pettigrew let go of Black to crack their own knuckles. Severus allowed Black to throw the first punch, which he dodged. Then he plowed a fist into his midsection, knocking the wind out of Black. He followed it with a vicious punch to Potter's jaw that knocked him into the hallway. He turned to Pettigrew, but found the coward pulling Black out the door, unwilling to enter a fight without others. Severus closed the door with satisfaction and sat down again. He raised an eyebrow at Sean and mildly said, "It really isn't wise to antagonize people twice your size, you know."

Sean grinned crookedly. "It isn't dumb when you know you can take them in a fight."

Severus's other eyebrow rose as well. "Really," was all he said.

"Really," assured Sean.

Severus found himself reevaluating his earlier assessment. Sean was Slytherin through and through.

Severus slipped back into the routine of classes with a sense of relief. The N.E.W.T. level classes were interesting and challenging, allowing him to finally drop the classes he despised. It was a dreary November day when he was called to the Headmaster's office unexpectedly. Severus climbed the stairs, following Professor Drummond, the Slytherin head of house. Waiting for him in Dumbledore's office was Phillip Murray. Severus's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Mr. Murray? Why are you here, sir?"

Phillip looked at Dumbledore for permission, and then led Severus to a chair.

"Severus, I am afraid that I have some bad news for you," he said quietly. Severus looked at him in puzzlement. "There has been an accident at the pub your mother worked at. A fire," he added.

"Was my mum hurt?" asked Severus. Phillip sighed, laid a hand on Severus' and shook his head.

"She's not- she couldn't be…" Severus couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. In reply Phillip lowered his eyes.

"How?" Severus asked, anguished.

"She was trapped in the kitchen, the door was blocked, and she couldn't get out." Phillip told him. "I'm sorry, Severus."

Professor Drummond laid a hand on Severus's shoulder. "We'll make arrangements for Severus to take the next Hogwarts Express home. How long will he be gone? A week? Two? I assume there are arrangements to be made."

Phillip scrubbed his face with his hands, hating to add the next bit of bad news. "There is not time to wait for the Hogwarts Express," he said tiredly. "We'll have to take a Portkey. The funeral is this afternoon."

Severus looked up quickly. "This afternoon?" he asked in puzzlement, "But…"

Phillip sighed again. "She died last week, lad," he said with compassion. "We read it in the papers, but when Eilis took over a hot dish last night, she found out that John had not contacted Hogwarts. We're going to make sure that you have the right to say good-bye and pay your respects to your mother properly."

Severus's eyes hardened. "He wasn't going to tell me at all, was he? Tim was right: he truly never wanted me. What was he going to do? Ship my things here and tell me to never darken his doorway again?" The sarcasm dripped from his words until he looked up and saw the sorrow in Phillip's eyes. "That asshole. He really was, wasn't he?" Phillip nodded silently; then he laid his hand on Severus's shoulder.

"My home is yours until you graduate," he promised. "Come, we have to leave." He stood and led Severus out the door, down the stairs, and through the halls to the main door. Severus walked blindly, until a mocking voice intruded.

"Going somewhere, Snivellus? Finally got expelled have we?" Black was standing with his usual following of girls who giggled or simpered at his every word.

Severus stopped; hate welling up inside of him. He could not go after John, but here was an enemy he could face. Without a word he drew his wand, glared darkly, then sent a stream of the nastiest hexes he know at Black and his entourage. Black dodged most of the hexes, but one girl, ducking out of the way knocked him full on into a Poligic hex. The muscles of his face all collapsed and drooped, leaving him with the countenance of one of the figures from _The Scream_. Satisfied, Severus turned his back and followed Phillip out the door.

They Portkeyed to the Murray's house, where Eilis was waiting with a dark suit. They all changed and left for the church. They arrived just before the hearse and the limousine that held John, Tim, and Ann. Severus stood silently, flanked by the Murrays while they climbed out. When she saw him, Ann ran over and hugged him.

"Stephen, Mummy went away," she said seriously, her round face streaked with tears. "Papa says she went to heaven. Do you know where heaven is? I want you to bring her back." Severus knelt down to hug his little sister. John stormed over and pulled Ann away.

"How dare you come here!" he snarled.

"She was my mother." Severus said, his voice dangerously quiet.

"She was my wife, and I say you are not welcome!" John shouted. Phillip laid a restraining hand on Severus's shoulder.

"The boy has a right to be here, John," he said calmly. "She was his mother, and that makes him welcome. Say what you will, but nothing will change that fact." He led Severus into the church and to the front of the pews. There, he consciously ushered him into the pew opposite those reserved for family.

"We'll be in the balcony," Eilis whispered. "With the rest of the unwelcome elements." Severus glanced over his shoulder. In the shadows of the balcony stood witches and wizards, noticeable only by their discomfort and uncertainty of action at a Muggle funeral. They were all in Muggle clothing, and surprisingly, there were few if any strange combinations of clothing present, as there usually was when wizards "went slumming".

Severus stared straight ahead during the funeral. He mechanically stood, knelt, or sat as the service proceeded. At the end, when the casket and the family had left, Phillip and Eilis came to collect him. Phillip guided him with a steadying hand to the Porsche and carefully sat him in the car. " We'll go to the gravesite later," he said quietly. "While the others are there, Severus, we'll stop by your house to see if there is anything you want to take." He drove the short distance to the house, and Severus climbed silently out of the car. Eilis opened the door with a spell, then stepped back to allow Severus privacy.

As he walked through the house, Severus realized that it held no memories he wished to keep. His room was empty; not even the furniture remained. Wanting some momento of his mother, Severus went into her bedroom. He carefully opened her jewelry box, looking through the trays of earrings and necklaces John had given her over the last eight years. He was about to replace the lid when his finger felt a loose board on the side. Slowly, he slid open a compartment that ran the side of the jewel box. Inside were letters written on parchment and tied with a ribbon. Dangling from the end of the ribbon was the ring that Severus remembered playing with as a boy, Gwenhwyfar's first wedding ring. It was a puzzle ring, that when assembled, formed a complex Celtic knot. He remembered the tales she had told him about rings like this, first made by a jealous king, who wanted to be sure of his wives' fidelity. If they removed their wedding ring, it fell apart, letting everyone know of her unfaithfulness. Severus gently removed the letters and slid the hidden compartment closed. He left the house without a backward glance.

The grave was deserted by the time Phillip pulled up to the correct area. They climbed out into the bitter weather of the afternoon and stood silently. The headstone had already been placed, listing the dates of Gwen's birth and death, as well as the word Beloved. Severus knelt down and traced her name, wishing that she could have been buried under her true name. Eilis knelt next to him with her wand drawn. With a whispered incantation, additional words carved themselves into the marble. "Gwenhwyfar Rhyannon ApBrin, wife, witch, mother. Died for her beliefs, remembered by those she loved." With another spell the words faded, leaving only the slightest sparkle, as though a small bit of mica were embedded in the stone.

"There, now she has a proper headstone," Eilis said with a determined nod. "Visible to those who need to know, unreadable to the rest. Are you ready to go, lad?" she turned to look at Severus.

"I didn't bring flowers for her grave," he said quietly. Eilis flicked her wand and produced a single white rose. She handed it to him solemnly, and he placed it on the fresh turned earth. When he rose, he knew he would never return. There was nothing for him now in the Muggle world. He walked silently back to the car, and they drove back to the Murrays' house. Phillip showed him to a room and promised to help him settle his things in the morning. Severus nodded, still not willing to speak. When the door closed, he stripped the sheets off the bed and pulled the mattress up against the wall. There was only one thing he could think to do right then. He needed to hit something. He pounded the mattress until his hands were swollen and bloody. He collapsed on the floor, trying to hold back his sobs of anger and sorrow. He held out until Eilis came into the room and wrapped her arms around him.

"She was a witch. Being trapped in a kitchen should have been impossible. She should have Aparated out, or blew a hole in the wall, or something! She shouldn't have died! She shouldn't!" he sobbed out. Eilis said nothing, simply rocking him until he quieted. Then she silently bandaged his hands, remade the bed, and tucked him under the soft sheets. She laid a cool hand on his brow and quietly said, "You are right, Severus, we will never have the answer to the question of why she had to die. That is the insult of death. It never answers our questions. Only time can take away the pain, and it is a poor comfort at that." She left the room, closing the door, and leaving him in the blessed quiet and dark.

He remained with Phillip and Eilis Murray for a week before he went back to Hogwarts. His general dislike of Muggles and Muggleborn slowly grew into complete hatred, as he settled on blaming them for his mother's death. He found friends among students that felt the same. That spring, when Black played his infamous "prank" that nearly cost Severus his life, he turned his back on the authorities of the Wizarding world, as well. If they would not punish those who attempted to kill him, he would find someone who would and could. He joined the group facetiously called the Junior Death Eaters by those who knew of their existence and became a full member of the followers of Voldemort the night he graduated from Hogwarts.

AN: I've tried to integrate everything we learned about Snape from _Order of the Phoenix_ here. Hopefully it comes across realistically. Let me know what you think.


	4. Not the Mirror of Erised

**4. Not the Mirror of Erised**

Snape returned to the present with a jerk. Carefully, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his blank stare or snap back to reality. With relief, he saw no one looking in the direction of his dark corner. He swallowed down the last of his Guinness, and dropped enough coins on the table to cover the bill. The daylight had faded into the long summer twilight when he left the Leaky Cauldron for Kings Cross Station. Though it was possible to Apparate blind, it was inadvisable to do so when going to a Muggle area. The chances were much greater of being seen by someone who should not be aware of wizards. He walked past platforms 9 and 10, then walked into the wall separating platforms 11 and 12. Platform 11 1/3 was the public Portkey station for Wizarding London. It was there for easier access for students that lived outside of London to get to the Hogwarts Express. His steps echoed across the empty station. It was rarely busy here, except for the first and last day of school and the holiday breaks from Hogwarts. Snape walked to the window and requested a Portkey for Bath. The Key master handed him a walking stick and pointed to the departure point. The familiar hook grabbed him behind the navel, and he came to rest in a shadowed alley behind a grocery store. He used his wand to set the Point Me spell, then strolled away to his sister's house.

He reached the neighborhood quickly and scouted around for a convenient alleyway. There was no possibility that he was ringing Ann's doorbell without an understanding of the situation. Call him paranoid if you will, but paranoia had saved his life more than once, and there was no sense in changing a habit that worked.

The comfortable white house was identical to every other comfortable white house on the block. It had the requisite back vegetable garden, which probably matched the requisite front flower garden, with its requisite roses and shrubbery. There was little cover next to the house, so he hid himself in the shadows of a weeping willow tree.

Though he would never admit it, the Weasleys' extendible ears did have a useful purpose. He sent three of the extra long ears into the three levels of the house. There was no sound in the upper levels, but in the basement, he could hear several voices. He retracted the extendible ears and sent a more traditional spy spell through the low window. It sent back an image that Snape set into motion, which he watched with speculation, fascination, and finally horror.

X X X

The room before him was a curious combination of finished comfort and unfinished roughness. There was a beautiful wood floor that ended abruptly three-quarters of the way across the room. The same area was painted in a warm cream color, brightly lit, and furnished with comfortable chairs, a billiards table, and a bar set into the wall. Where the floor ended were smooth concrete walls and floor. The light was harsh, coming from unshielded bulbs, and there was a strange assortment of hooks set into the wall. The unfinished end of the room sent a feeling apprehension through Snape, but he dismissed it as impossible.

There was a flurry of movement back in the other part of the room that drew his attention. Snape sent the extendible ear back into the room as he watched the scene unfold. A woman wearing a long dress stood next to a man seated in an armchair. He was large—not fat, but built with a large frame. His dusky coloring and hooded eyes only added to the aura of darkness that surrounded him. Two boys, identical in coloring, height, and features stood before the chair. They could have been any age from thirteen to eighteen, though their posture and movement gave the impression of youth. The boys flanked a slight girl, the student that Snape was sent to find, or so he supposed. She may have been eleven, but looked much closer to seven. He looked closely at the girl, and realized that she was trembling slightly. The man glowered at the girl, then drew back his arm and slapped her across the face.

"You lie, Elizabeth. I will beat the falsehood out of you if I must. Do not tempt me further." The girl looked pleadingly at the man.

"Father, I promise. I didn't take food from the cabinet, you locked it before dinner and I was in my room all evening; you sent me there yourself."

The man raised his hand again, and the girl cringed in fear. He narrowed his eyes, curled his lip in a sneer, and stood. He grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and threw her across the room to land on the smooth cement. She caught herself on her hands and knees, then slowly stood. Blood trickled down one leg, where the skin had been rubbed to raw flesh.

"You are a liar, Elizabeth, and you will be punished. That is the only way to teach you the consequences of your actions. Prepare her," he told the woman. Ann crossed the room and took Elizabeth's arm in a firm grasp. The girl tried to pull away, but her slight frame was no match for the woman. Keeping a firm grip, Ann began unbuttoning Elizabeth's shirt.

"Why must you always fight?" she hissed in an impatient voice. "If you would just accept your punishment, it would go easier for you. You make it worse with your stubbornness. What will you do once you are married? Your husband will have no restrictions against killing you." She pulled one arm free of the sleeve and snapped a metal handcuff around the girl's wrist. Swiftly, she pulled the other sleeve away and cuffed her other wrist. Holding the short chain that linked the cuffs, Ann stripped off Elizabeth's skirt as well, leaving the child standing in just her underwear. The sight made Snape momentarily avert his eyes. It was not the undeveloped chest he wished to avoid but rather it was the sight of the scars that crossed her back and legs, leaving no skin unmarred from her neck to her knees. There were livid bruises and large scabs layered over red lines of recent scars, and the white lines of old scarring. Though it was the kind of sight Snape was familiar with, the presence of it on the person of his niece, a child, was beyond comprehension.

Ann handed the chain to one of the boys, then calmly walked back to her place by her husband's chair. As the boy pulled Elizabeth towards the hooks set into the wall, she pulled back, trying to delay the inevitable. The chain was strung between two hooks, set high enough into the wall that Elizabeth's heels were lifted slightly from the floor. Goose bumps broke out over her exposed skin as she came into contact with the cold cement. The man finally rose from his chair to approach the trembling girl.

"You are a liar, Elizabeth. For your disobedience, your deceit, and for your continued resistance to your proper place in this family, I sentence you to forty strokes."

"Forty, husband?" Ann's brow furrowed. "Why are you being so lenient?"

"Do not presume to question me, woman! You learn more through silence than through unnecessary speech." The man raised his hand as though to strike his wife.

"Forgive me, husband," Ann said quickly. "I did not mean to question you."

The man lowered his hand, satisfied in her meekness. He turned to the two boys, lounging on the couch. "What are you waiting for?" he asked harshly. "I said forty strokes!"

The boys sat up quickly. "But father," one began, "you said last week that we were not ready. We made a mess of things."

"Have you practiced this week?" the man asked patiently.

"Yes, sir!" both boys responded quickly.

"Then you should be ready." The boys scrambled from their seats to the many leather straps hanging against the wall.

"Which ones, sir?" the first boy asked. The man pointed to the thinnest straps. They were truly more whips, tightly braided coils of leather with a thicker handle. Each boy grasped a handle and faced their father once more.

"Forty lashes," the man said again. "Make them count."

The boys saluted him with the whips, then turned to their small sister. They gave several practice swings, then nodded to each other. Their swings alternated, each crack leaving a bloody stripe behind. They were methodical, allowing the one swing to complete before beginning the next. Even so, it was not long before Elizabeth's back and legs dripped blood to the floor. When they finished, the boys turned expectantly to their father. He surveyed their handiwork, and nodded regally.

"Well done. You have been practicing. Bring Elizabeth to me." He motioned to the boys, and they quickly hung their whips back on the wall, then unhooked the chain and deposited the girl on the floor at her father's feet.

Her tremors were worse now, the shaking visible to the naked eye. Thus far, the only sound she had made since protesting her innocence were slight gasps as the whips struck. Outside, Snape shook his head in shock, as well as admiration for the girl. He had seen grown men cry like children from punishments much slighter than this, yet this child had not cried out once.

The man turned to the two boys standing at attention behind Elizabeth. "Very good, you did a fine job this time." The boys both flushed with pride. "Now Thomas, can you tell me the limitations in disciplining a daughter?" The boy on the right bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering.

"Yes, sir. A father's responsibility is to train his daughter to the appropriate behavior for a woman of the Grey Family. He must teach her humility, honesty, obedience, meekness, and to always be industrious and submissive to those in authority over her. He may employ any method he so chooses to discipline her when she falls short of the expectations. However, any female child of the Grey Family, no matter how flawed, is a jewel when compared to the rough, untrained women raised outside of the family, and so no father may cause such damage in disciplining his daughter that would disfigure her face, incapacitate her for service, or cause her death before her marriage to a man in the Grey Family." He finished his recitation with a relieved sigh, obviously glad to remember the full litany. His father nodded proudly.

"You did that very well, Thomas. Now Charles, do you remember the only exception to these rules?" The other boy also bit his lip in thought before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, father, but I don't remember." The man nodded and turned back to Thomas.

"Do you remember?" Thomas also shook his head no. "That is alright. It is a situation that seldom arises. Normally, a father's responsibility is to train his daughter as a jeweler removes the outer covering of an uncut stone. The final cutting and polishing is the responsibility of her husband. Sadly, there are some girls that are born with flaws that run through their entire being. These are the girls that will not accept the discipline of their fathers, and will not change their behavior. Then it becomes the responsibility of the father to break his daughter, so that the usable fragments may be put to use." Thomas and Charles' eyes strayed to their sister, still lying on the stone floor at their feet. Their father nodded solemnly. "I find your sister to be such a girl. Her flaws run deep, and she continues to refuse to bend to my will. Tonight, I will teach you how to break a woman's spirit. Learn carefully because you will not have many opportunities to observe."

Ann stepped forward slightly.

"William, must you?" she asked. Snape found that he was almost holding his breath waiting for the man's response. The discussion he was hearing was disturbing, to say the least. Damn Dumbledore and his brilliant ideas. This was a situation so far removed from the _see if they have any questions and perhaps reconcile with your sister_ that the headmaster had suggested, that he felt almost as though he was over his head. He hadn't prepared for anything like this. He forced himself to pull back, to consider the situation from a distance. If ever he needed to repress his inner Gryffindor, this was the moment. _First observe, then consider, then react, _he strongly counseled himself. His attention was brought back to the macabre scene when William's hand struck Ann across the face and knocked her to the floor.

"How dare you question me!" he raged. "Take care that you are not next!"

Ann slowly stood, hand pressed against her cheek, eyes downcast. "Please forgive me, William. I meant no disrespect. I know that you are right; please forgive my weakness."

William nodded shortly, then turned back to the two boys. They stood unconcerned, except for the interruption to their father's lecture. Snape felt a chill travel down his spine. Those boys had no reaction to the abuse of their own mother and had gleefully abused their sister. That kind of calloused cruelty was chilling to see in two adolescent boys. Thank Merlin they had no magic in their souls. Voldemort would pay any price for recruits of that caliber.

William took the length of chain that connected the shackles that Elizabeth still wore. He dragged her to the center of the unfinished room and threw her onto her back, her head connecting heavily with the floor. Before she recovered from the blow, he had hooked the chain behind her neck, pulling her arms up.

"Thomas, Charles, I want each of you to kneel on one of her arms; pin them to the floor," William instructed. The boys quickly complied, pulling her elbows to the floor and kneeling on her upper arms. On Elizabeth's left shoulder there was a small brand, the size of a one-pound coin. It appeared to be a rose, or other round flower. It was an old scar, with faint raised white lines. William placed his finger over the brand.

"When you were an infant, Elizabeth, you were given this mark, to show that you were a daughter of the Grey Family, the best of all dowries. You dishonor this mark with your actions. From now on, you shall bear the mark of a flawed woman, and no man will take you as wife, unless he enjoys breaking his women. You could have been wed to a man who would give you sons, and thus the highest honor among women. But you have chosen to walk another path, and so you will bear a new mark, that all may know just what you are." He stood and pulled from a small furnace an iron pole that had been heating in the flame. The tip glowed a sullen red before he pressed it into the front of Elizabeth's shoulder, over the previous brand. Both boys flinched back from the smell of scorched flesh but stayed resolutely on her arms, preventing Elizabeth from pulling away. She screamed now, unable to stop as her skin blackened. When the iron was pulled away, a complex knot of black lines showed deep in the burned and blistered skin. The new mark was the size of the palm of a hand, pressed deep into the tender flesh of her upper chest and shoulder.

William threw the iron to the side and nodded for the boys to release Elizabeth. They moved to the side and she curled into a ball, huddling against the pain. She gagged and vomited to the floor, coughing and choking on the bile that had risen. William walked over to the bar and picked up a stack of papers. He sat back in his chair, watching as Elizabeth fought to regain control. He motioned for Thomas and Charles to bring her back to him. They pulled her up from the floor and held her upright facing her father. He coolly looked up and studied the girl, assessing her reactions.

"Elizabeth, what did I tell you at the beginning of the school year?"

The girl lifted a shocked and tear-stained face to her father. "You said that it was my last year of school," she replied with a hoarse and broken voice.

"Yes, I did," he said with a dangerous note. "Pray tell, then, why in the last two weeks, you have received acceptance letters from boarding schools in eight different countries?" He threw the papers he had collected to the floor at his feet. Several were open, but the majority of the envelopes, including the parchment one from Hogwarts, were still sealed. Elizabeth looked from the envelopes to her father.

"Father, I don't know why they came. I didn't send in any applications, I promise. Maybe my teachers did, or they are automatic for every student from the school. But I knew that I couldn't go on with school, so I didn't send in anything."

William stood abruptly and jerked his head for Thomas and Charles to step aside. Elizabeth flinched back from her father and fell to the floor. He glared down at her, holding his silence for a moment. He lifted his foot and rested it on her left hand.

"Last year, your teacher mentioned time after time how wonderful a writer you are. She asked if you had shared your stories with us, because we should be so proud of you. She wanted to know if you were considering going to a secondary school that specialized in writing, because you could be a gifted novelist or journalist." His foot pressed down, grinding into her hand. "A wife of the Grey Family does not write foolish stories. She does not use her hands other than to serve her husband or care for her children. Here is what I think about your precious writing." He ground his heel into her fingers until the bones separated and popped audibly. Elizabeth gasped in shock, her eyes dilating and darting around wildly. He lifted his foot and once again observed her coldly. "You sent applications to schools far and wide, all boarding schools, as though you could leave this family and your future. I don't think you will be going far now." He swung his foot forward into the side of her leg, her knee suddenly bending in a direction nature never intended. Elizabeth screamed in pain, unable to control the reaction. It ripped from her throat, a sound hardly human at all.

He pulled Elizabeth up by an arm and looked coldly at her. "You are a disgrace to this family, Elizabeth. I am ashamed that you are my daughter. If I had known that you would be like this, I would have drowned you like a kitten when you were born. I've wasted enough time on you. When I go to the family gathering tomorrow, I shall offer you to the highest bidder, and may God have mercy on your soul." He dropped her back to the floor, and turned once more to his sons.

"Have either of you ever had the satisfaction of sinking your fist into the face or belly of an enemy?" he asked quietly. Both boys shrugged.

"Not really, father, the school tends to break up fights before we get much beyond shoving," Charles answered.

"Ah, I understand." William replied. He took the chain and dragged Elizabeth across the floor. Once again, she was suspended from the hooks, this time facing the room. She sagged limply, unable to support her weight. He gestured grandly to Elizabeth. "Each of you may take five shots. I recommend trying both face and body blows. They feel very different." The boys glanced at each other, shrugged, and approached.

Thomas nudged Charles forward. "You first."

Charles stepped up, hands forming into fists. He examined her coldly, then struck. His first blow was to her face, the next three in quick succession to her solar plexus. He paused before the final blow, lining it up carefully. He struck the bridge of her nose, and it broke spectacularly, blood quickly streaming down her face. Each blow was accompanied by a pained grunt or gasp from Elizabeth. She could no longer scream from the pain. He stepped aside, shaking his hand slightly, and motioned his brother forward. Thomas tilted his head to the side, and chose four deep body blows first. He sneered before delivering the final blow, not a punch at all, but a backhanded slap that caught Elizabeth's cheek and swung her head into the wall. William unhooked the chain and let Elizabeth fall to the floor. He kicked her in the stomach, a blow that slammed her into the wall, her head and upper chest hunching forward. Before turning their backs, Thomas and Charles also gave Elizabeth one last viscous kick to the ribs. Her ribs gave way with sickening pops. When they reached the stairs, William turned back to Ann and commanded, "Clean up the mess and join us upstairs."

Ann nodded obediently, took several cloths and a bucket of water that were waiting. She cleaned the blood and bile from the wall and floor, then stood above her daughter. Elizabeth was gasping slightly for air, her body shaking uncontrollably. She lay on her side, her mangled hand cradled against her chest, her leg jutting out crookedly. Ann shook her head.

"Why couldn't you have just accepted your place?" she asked with a sigh. "You brought this on yourself, you know. Think it over." She dropped the cloths by the laundry machine, emptied the bucket, and walked to the wall. She pulled a set of Venetian sliding doors across the unfinished portion of the basement, turned William's chair around to face the room, turned off the lights, and went up the stairs. Elizabeth was left, broken and bleeding, on the stone floor. She had nothing to protect her from the cold, and she lay forgotten in the darkness, her cries unanswered.

Snape pulled away from the spell shaking in shock and fury. How dare they treat a child that way! Their own flesh and blood! They would pay, and pay dearly for what they had done. No one could get away with actions like that. Especially when their target was related to him by blood. It wasn't to be borne.

A figure pulled back the curtain in the living room. Ann stood, looking over the back garden absently fingering the developing bruise on her cheek. Snape sent another extendable ear to the ground floor. The noise in the background suggested the boys were watching the telly with their father.

"Close the curtain, Ann, unless there is something to see?"

Ann turned away from the window at William's command. "I'm sorry, William. I was lost in thought."

"And what in your thoughts was so interesting that you could be lost in them?" There was a sneer in his voice.

"I wonder if Elizabeth's behavior is not somehow my fault." Her voice was low and worried.

"How could it be your fault? I've been her disciplinarian since she was three. Am I to blame if you are not?"

"No, William, I'm not to blame for my actions, but for my blood. Have I ever told you of my half-brother?"

"Tim was an honorable man, who died much too young in a tragic accident."

"Not Tim, the other one, Stephen. He was my mother's son, went off to some boarding school when I was two. I never knew him much, but my father threw him out of the house when he was sixteen. From what I remember he was he was undisciplined, egotistical, untrustworthy, and completely unreliable. From the moment father threw him out, until his death when I was ten, he forbade anyone to speak Stephen's name. It may be that Elizabeth inherited that bad blood."

"Whatever caused his failures surely came from his father, likely a good-for-nothing like your brother. The John Smithson I knew would never have married a woman who was less than virtuous. This discussion is over. Boys! Turn off the telly. We leave early tomorrow, and you need your sleep."

The sounds clicked off and the living room went dark. Snape waited until the bedroom lights turned on before moving from his post. He crept to the basement window and opened it with a whispered spell. He slid inside the room slowly, his wand as the only illumination. He pulled one of the doors away and swiftly moved to Elizabeth's side. He called her name, and she moved slightly, groaning with pain. He placed one hand gently on her forehead, smoothed a few wisps of hair back, and whispered calmly, "Hold on, Elizabeth. I'm going for help. Just hold on for me." He stood and cast a field-healer's spell he had learned in the last uprising. It slowed the body's functions down to a hibernation state, which would slow the progression of bleeding and other injuries. Its function was to buy an injured witch or wizard time to reach a mediwizard, and many tests had shown that even a fatal wound could be survived for twelve hours.

"I'll return as soon as I can," he promised the now-unconscious girl. He left the room as he had come, locking the window when he left.

Snape paced in the alleyway, debating his options. His mission now was very different, and he needed to consider it fully. Had he arrived and things were normal, he would have convinced them to allow Elizabeth to attend Hogwarts and left, never to bother them again. Had he found an autocratic father ordering Elizabeth to her room, or treating her with strictness, he again could have left with a clean conscience. No one ever suffered lasting damage from a strict father. Especially when she would be out from under his thumb for all but two months of the summer.

However, this was not a case of a strict father. No child could be left in an abusive situation. Each year at Hogwarts, professors were reminded of the signs of abuse, and swore oaths to the ministry Department of Children and Families that they would report any suspected abuse. Elizabeth must be removed from the situation and would be as soon as he made report. She would be placed with a wizarding family during breaks, and she would be fine. However, that did not satisfy his desire for revenge. Elizabeth was not some random child; she was his blood—no matter that he had not known of her existence until that day. That meant that he could justifiably claim revenge, and his own personality demanded it. They would pay for their actions, and to fully exact revenge, he would need reinforcements. He needed a highly qualified mediwizard, access to a hospital closer than St. Mungo's, a contact in the Department of Children and Families, and assistance to exact revenge where it would hurt the most. He checked the time—9:45 at night. It was perfect; there would be fewer witnesses to his arrival, his reinforcements would be in, and morning was not too far away.

X X X

Had anyone looked out that evening, they would have seen a shadowy figure in billowing robes pacing the length of the alley, muttering darkly. It vanished suddenly with a loud crack, which would have left the observer with tales of evil spirits and a pressing need to sign up for mental help.

AN: This was not an easy chapter to write, but as Snape himself said, the situation had to be desperate for him to get involved. However, our solitary potions master wouldn't leave a Weasley in this situation, much less his own blood. It makes sense to me, at least! Let me know what you think.


	5. Reaching Out

**5. Reaching out**

Snape reappeared a few miles away on a street in the area of Somersetshire still referred to as Aquae Sulis. The sight of a figure appearing with a crack in the middle of the street was not unusual here. He paused momentarily to be certain that he had not splinched himself in haste, then swiftly strode to he door of a modest bungalow. Modest, that is, in size. The electric blue trim and living stone gargoyles making faces in the yard were not quite so modest. Snape strode quickly to the door and pounded on it. It opened to reveal a witch, several years younger than him, dressed in gray robes trimmed in the same blue as the house.

"Severus?" Her gray eyes widened in surprise.

"Shelly, I need your help."

At Snape's flat request, the witch's eyes took on a gleam that was equal parts mischief, annoyance, and spite. Her mouth twisted into an ironic grin. "Why Severus, it's so nice to see you, too! I am just fine, thank you for asking. Yes, yes, Sean _did_ finish mediwizard training; he'll be home from work soon. We understand why you missed the wedding, your letter explained everything. Oh," she said, placing a hand over her lower stomach, "you noticed! Yes, we are very excited. I'm due in November. Lovely seeing you, too. Good-bye." She began to shut the door in his face. Snape stuck his foot in the crack before it closed completely.

"Damn it, Shelly! Fine. How are you? You look great. How is Sean? Did he ever finish med school? I'm really sorry I missed your wedding, but something came up, and I was in no position to write. Congratulations about the baby, when are you due? Here, I brought you a present." That said, he gestured grandly with his wand and a huge floral arrangement with balloons proclaiming _Happy Wedding!_, _Here's To the New House!_, and _Congratulations!_ appeared on the front porch.

Shelly opened the door again. "That is the ugliest, gaudiest thing I've ever seen done with flowers in my life, and if you think you can bribe your way back into my affections, well, you are absolutely right. I love it. Come here and give us a hug."

Snape stepped forward to enfold the grinning witch in an embrace, then leaned back to give her a mild glare. "Shelly, I wasn't joking. I need your help, and Sean's, too. Tonight."

Shelly hit him back with a glare of her own. "I heard you the first time. Now you need to listen to me. I can very well see that you are worked up about something. However, there are a couple of reasons you are going to save it for later. One: if whatever it is was so life-or-death this instant, you would not be standing on my front porch. You would be handling it on your own. Two: Sean isn't here; he gets off shift at 10. He will need to hear whatever it is, so you might as well wait 'til he's here and tell it once. Third, and most importantly, _you_ came to _me_, therefore _I_ get to decide when I want to listen to you." With that, she flashed a smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat.

"Damn Gryffindor," Snape muttered under his breath.

"You know you love me!" Shelly retorted, then dragged Snape through the door into the living room, where she forced tea and biscuits on him until he was ready to scream.

Luckily for Snape's sanity and Shelly's health, Sean Apparated home directly after his shift. He accepted Snape's appearance for the first time in six years with a handclasp and a raised eyebrow to his wife.

"It's after dinnertime, Shelly. Couldn't you have at least given the man a beer while waiting for me to come home?"

"He hasn't earned a beer yet, Sean," Shelly complained

"Oh, and what does he have to do? Tap dance? Stand on his head? Recite an epic poem?" Sean grinned evilly at Shelly, and she threw up her hands in surrender. She brought both men a beer, grumbling all the while about idiot men and their imbecilic relationships. Sean popped the cap on his, took a swig, and leaned back in his chair.

"So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Snape leaned forward, paused, and glanced at Shelly. "Can I ask now?" he mock-pleaded.

Shelly smirked and nodded.

"I need your help; both of you. Please."

Sean and Shelly exchanged glances. For Severus Snape to ask for help so simply, with no sarcasm, irony, threats, or beating around the bush, the matter must be of great importance and immediate concern. Shelly bit her lip and looked guilty.

"What is it, Severus? Name it, and if we can, we'll do it." Sean set his bottle down on the table and leaned forward intently.

Snape sent Sean a withering glance. "And you call yourself a Slytherin? I believe the phrase you meant to say is 'What is in it for me?' You've been living with a Gryffindor too bloody long."

Shelly grinned. "You know you love me!" she sang out.

Sean returned Snape's glare with a mild glance. "The second exception the third principle of the first cardinal rule of Slytherin House states that the exchange of favors or debts can be excused between friends if the one owed the debt judges the situation sufficiently grave. I am your friend, not just an ally, you would owe me, and I know you wouldn't come asking like this if the situation didn't demand it. So what do you need, exactly?"

Snape looked soberly at his long-time friends as he gathered his thoughts. "Dumbledore sent me off on a school-related meeting this afternoon. I was to contact a Muggle family in Bath to convince them of the importance of responding to their daughter's Hogwarts letter."

Shelly cocked her head. "Doesn't sound too difficult," she observed, "though you wouldn't be my choice for a first contact with the wizarding world."

Snape's mouth quirked. "Nor mine. However, Dumbledore had his reasons, as always. This Muggle family happens to be related to me. My half-sister, Ann, is a squib raised as a Muggle. Her daughter inherited the family's magical abilities."

Sean grimaced slightly. "Ouch. That couldn't have been fun to find out. I assume you didn't keep in contact with her."

"No, and that's where this tale picks up. You know me; I would never walk into a situation like that without a little research. I spent the evening under her back tree spying on the family." Snape paused, pain tightening the lines in his face. "What I saw there tonight rivaled some of the most horrific memories I have of the Dark Lord's first rising. Elizabeth, my niece, was beaten within an inch of her life tonight, and it was not the first time. Right now, she is lying on a cement floor, in the dark, with broken bones, and I believe they plan to leave her there tomorrow all day as well."

Shelly shot to her feet, raging. "And you left her there! How dare you, Severus, how dare you!"

Sean caught her wrist and pulled her back to the couch. "Let him finish, Shelly."

Snape's eyes betrayed the hurt Shelly's accusation had caused. "I set the _Vita Pesada_ spell and came here to get you. That was less than an hour ago; we have eleven hours to plan and rescue her."

"But Severus, if you could get close enough to set that spell, why not just take her away? She could have been in St. Mungo's by now, not lying between life and death," Shelly protested.

"Because it wouldn't be enough, would it, Severus?" Sean observed coolly. "The situation calls for revenge. If he didn't claim vengeance for the evil done to his niece, he would forfeit his right to call her family." He looked over at Snape. "That's where we come in, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Shelly asked in confusion.

"He needs a representative from the Department of Children and Families, a mediwizard, and a hospital closer than St. Mungo's, preferably one that will not ask inconvenient questions. Right, Severus?"

The expression that crossed Snape's face held more humor this time. "The last would simply be a perk, not a requirement."

"What are you talking about?" Shelly asked again. Snape and Sean exchanged glances.

"Should we include her?" Snape asked Sean.

"Probably; it would save time later," Sean responded.

"Yes, but then we can't speak in Slytherin language," Snape protested.

"However, if we tell her now, she won't argue as much later, and I'll have a better chance of sleeping in my own bed tonight," Sean reasoned.

"We'll see about that," Shelly snipped. "Now, tell me what you are planning."

The night grew dark and long as the plotting commenced. There were times that it perhaps grew a little too complex, but Shelly would kindly point them out.

"Look, you don't have to rappel down the back of the house!" she protested.

"We weren't going to rappel, we were going to burrow from the sewer system underneath. Much fewer chances of being seen that way," Sean reasonably pointed out.

"I was being facetious. The point is, there is a front door that will serve the same purpose with much less time!"

When the night's scheming was finished, there emerged a beautiful plan of revenge that only two devious minds and one very bold one could ever imagine.


	6. RevengeIs a Dish Best Served Pipping Hot

**6. Revenge… is a dish best served piping hot**

It was early when the white service van turned onto Upper Oldfield Park. Most people were having a nice Saturday lie-in, but a few were awake to notice the three people in painters' suits who climbed from the van carrying drop cloths, bulky equipment bags, and paint buckets. One walked to the front door and rang the bell of number 23. When no one answered, he turned back to the van.

"You sure this is the place, Ed?" he called out. A second member reached back into the van for a clipboard, flipped through some papers, and called back.

"Sure is, Joe. Says if no one's home the back door will be left open." Ed placed the clipboard back in the van and slung a bag over his shoulder. He headed around the house to the back and soon reappeared and jerked his head for the others. "It's open, with a note. They want the kitchen done while they're gone so it has time to dry." The other two figures settled their caps more firmly on their heads, picked up their equipment, and followed Ed to the back door.

Once inside "Ed" pulled off his cap to reveal Severus Snape. He led Sean and Shelly to the basement, opened the door and stood back to allow his friends the full impact of the scene. Shelly gasped in shock and dismay while Sean's face went still and cold. Elizabeth lay in the same place, bruises darkening both her eyes, hand swollen to twice its normal size, leg twisted at an odd angle. The livid burn was weeping a clear fluid, while rivulets of blood had traced from the wounds on her back and knee and from her broken nose. Sean moved forward, drawing his wand. Shelly held up a hand, stopping him.

"Wait," she said, drawing her own wand. She waved it in a complicated pattern and muttered, "_Inscripto." _A white square appeared, floating in midair. Shelly's voice became clinical and remote. "Official record of investigation, suspected abuse. Rachelle Murray present with two witnesses to examine the home and health of Elizabeth Grey, minor witch," she said clearly, and the words appeared on the square. "I have entered the home of William and Ann Grey after a report of suspected abuse was given to me by a concerned party. The reporter observed ill treatment of Elizabeth, aged eleven. The parents, the aforementioned, are not present at the time of this investigation. Upon entering the home, I found a child, female, lying unconscious in the basement of the house. She is dressed in nothing but underclothes and exhibits multiple visible wounds. The child will be transported to Sulis Minerva Hospital, where further reports of the extent of her injuries will be recorded. _Suspendo_." The words paused in their flow onto the white square. Shelly turned to Sean and said, "You can begin now. I'll need pictures before you finish, of her and of the room, but I'll take Severus upstairs now." She pulled out a camera and motioned for Snape to follow her. Sean remained behind, running his wand over Elizabeth and muttering as he learned the extent of her injuries.

Back on the ground floor Shelly moved quickly, taking pictures of the house. The kitchen received particular attention, especially the padlocks on the handles of the food pantry and refrigerator. They moved upstairs and opened the doors to the various rooms. The master bedroom was clearly obvious by size and luxurious decoration, and the first two bedrooms were similarly appointed, with computers, televisions, gaming stations, and the decorations beloved of teenage boys.

The last room, though, was very different. It was small, less than half the size of the other rooms, perhaps originally intended as a large storage closet, not a bedroom. Shelly pointed out the deadbolt on the outside of the door. There were a small bed, a simple dresser, and a narrow wardrobe that held only school uniforms and two dresses. There was no carpeting, no pictures, and no dolls or other possessions usual to young girls. Shelly photographed the rooms without comment and took the camera back to Sean. When she returned to the ground floor, she smiled coldly.

"I will truly enjoy trashing this place," she informed Snape. He smirked in reply.

They began in the kitchen. The china cabinet was the first casualty. Each plate, bowl, cup, saucer, serving platter, and crystal goblet was reduced to smithereens as Snape and Shelly threw them against the wall, to the floor, crushed them with a heel, or blew them to bits with well-placed spells. Snape unlocked all the padlocks, and they expanded from destruction to vandalism. They left the freezer door open for things to melt, dumped the milk, smashed the eggs, and opened and emptied every container onto the floor. Shelly found large squeeze bottles of salad dressing, catsup, and mustard and set them aside for later. They finished by unloading the flour and sugar tins over the slimy mess and sprinkled the jars of spices for a colorful, artistic effect.

Moving into the dining room, Shelly gleefully eyed the white carpeting. She handed the mustard bottle to Snape, uncapped the catsup and gave a maniacal grin.

"I bet I can make a prettier picture than you can," she challenged. Snape nodded in acceptance of the challenge. They stood back to back, counted to three, and squirted their condiments across the carpeting. There was a pause as they considered their own work, then switched places to consider the others. Snape cocked his head to the side and said slowly, "It's a butterfly?"

Shelly nodded proudly and declared, "Yes it is, and I win. I can't even tell what your picture is." Snape looked hurt.

"I made a hinkypunk," he protested.

Shelly considered the picture again. "With its head on sideways?" she asked.

"It's a cubist rendition of a hinkypunk. I actually included an artistic style, therefore I win," Snape defended.

Shelly looked back with her nose in the air. "I said prettiest picture, not the one most able to squirt condiments in the style of Picasso. Therefore, I still win."

They found their first treasure in the den. In a series of glass cabinets there was a collection of antique weapons. Snape reduced the doors to dust and sorted through the swords, crossbows, spears, shields, and axes.

"Useless, worthless, useless, useless, fake, worthless, fake—ooh, valuable," he labeled each piece as he pulled it out. The pile of weapons that were actually valuable was very small; they were stashed in the equipment bags by the door as loot to take when they left. Of the rest, Snape found two sturdy axes and two serviceable swords, and handed one of each to Shelly.

They proceeded to destroy everything they could. Upholstery was slashed, table legs were snapped off, mirrors and pictures were split into pieces. There was a pause in the path of destruction when they reached the study. Snape worked to open the large safe that was "hidden" behind a particularly ugly landscape, while Shelly convinced the computer to reveal any secrets it held. Snape succeeded first, pulling the door open to reveal a large amount of cash, jewelry, and a case holding a king's ransom in uncut gemstones. All were loaded into the bags, which would be deposited into a Gringott's vault that had been opened in Elizabeth's name. Thus far they had collected enough valuables for Elizabeth to live comfortably for years. That was when Shelly hit the jackpot. The computer was connected to the Internet, and Shelly had found the Internet banking site that William Grey used. Not only that, his computer was set to remember his passwords, so Shelly had immediate access to all of his various accounts. Shelly transferred every penny from his three savings accounts and left only enough in the checking account for them to purchase petrol and dinner on their way home. With this addition to Elizabeth's account, she was, by any definition, rich.

"Well, that was a nice little breather," Shelly quipped. "Ready to go again?"

Snape grinned back and they continued their path of destruction. The computer was smashed, the desk drawers emptied, the desktop destroyed. They went back upstairs and gave the bedrooms the same treatment. They added Ann's jewelry to their bags of loot, as well as several composition books Snape found hidden under the mattress in Elizabeth's room. When the bedrooms were well and truly tossed, they returned to the ground floor. Shelly handed Snape two bottles of salad dressing, took the tops off the two she held, and they walked down the stairs to the basement dripping trails of salad dressing behind. The trails led to the sliding doors and ended in oily puddles, as though the creators had stood for a time, looking through the doors, and then became splatters as the vandals ran from the basement. They packed thelast of thetreasures they had collected in the duffle bag Sean had carried in and set it by the door, ready to go.

When they finished, they returned to the hidden room. There were now two unconscious girls lying there, identical replicas of each other. Sean looked up, his face unreadable. "I've got the simulacrum ready," he said. "If you are done playing, we can finish and get Elizabeth to the hospital."

Snape crouched down to inspect the two figures. "It's unsettling to see just how alike they are."

Sean's mouth quirked in a smile. "They are exactly the same, down to the DNA. That's what took so long, because there were thousands of old injuries to put in. When they autopsy her, they are going to find all the evidence they need to put those murdering bastards away." He stood and placed a hand on Snape's shoulder. "You may not want to watch the next part, Severus. I have to animate it long enough to die. It won't be a pleasant thing to watch."

Snape shook his head. "I've seen plenty of unpleasantness in my life; I will watch and bear witness."

Sean nodded in acceptance and pointed his wand at the simulacrum. "_Enervate_," he whispered. The lifeless figure took a gasping breath and tried to twist away from the pain. It was breathing in shallow gasps, moving its head weakly. Soon, the veins in its neck began to stand out in sharp relief.

"Jugular vein distension," Sean explained in a clinical voice. "She has internal injuries and is bleeding out; it's putting pressure on the heart. Blood can't get back into the heart, so it is backing up in the veins."

The figure stopped breathing for a moment, then coughed weakly and began fighting for air again. It happened several more times, then stopped completely. It died, one hand blindly reaching out in supplication for help that never came.

"We must go," Sean said softly, breaking the silence. "Elizabeth has only an hour before the same happens to her."

Exactly one hour after the workmen entered number 23 Upper Oldfield Park, they left, carrying their bags and drop cloths. Ed and Joe gently slid the rolled drop cloth into the van, while the third figure slung the equipment bag and paint cans into the back. They were about to climb in and drive away when a woman waved from the front door of the next house over.

"Pardon me, but what company are you with?" she asked in a nosy manner. Joe walked over to her and handed her a business card. It was a simple white rectangle with the words "Messrs. Pilfer, Bollocks, and Toss, Interior Redesign. Walls, Floors, and Upholstery." There was a phone number printed under the name and description. She looked at it critically and then asked with a sharp-eyed glare, "Do you do kitchens?"

"It is one of our specialties, and the area of our highest artistic endeavors," Joe assured her. "Good day." He climbed into the passenger's seat, and the van pulled sedately away from the curb and turned right at the corner, leaving the woman frowning at the card and muttering about new cabinets and recessed lighting.

AN: When I first wrote this chapter, I thought that the locks in the kitchen were a little much… but then this last season of CSI did the same thing. Note that I did it first! Thanks goes out to my beta reader for catching all my grammatical mistakes and doing the minor tweakage needed to make this readable.


	7. The Sign of the Gorgon’s Head

**7. The Sign of the Gorgon's Head**

"Are you all right driving, Shelly?" Sean asked as they peeled out and sped away from the neighborhood. She nodded, and he reached into the glove compartment for a small device. He lit a flame with his wand on one end and sprinkled floo powder into the flame.

"Sulis Minerva Hospital," he called clearly. A small head appeared in the flame. "Doctor Arres, please," Sean said to the head.

"One moment please." Tinny music began to play over the flame. A few minutes later a witch's head appeared. She was middle-aged, with brown hair pulled back into a low, loose bun.

"Ooh, ouch," she complained, "I hate these portable floo phones, they always give me a headache from squeezing into them. What's wrong, Dr. Murray? Something must have happened."

"Rebecca, I'm on my way with an emergency surgery case. I need to ask you to assemble a trauma team." The witch frowned disapprovingly.

"Sean, we aren't an emergency hospital—we can't take a case like that."

Sean cut off her protests. "Rebecca, I know that we don't have an emergency room, or the facilities. However, this patient has fifty-two minutes left in the _Vita Pesada_ spell, and we will be there in eighteen minutes, which would leave half an hour to prep for the surgery. I don't trust anyone else to take care of this."

"What are we looking at here, Sean?" Rebecca asked.

"From my examination, she has multiple broken ribs, hemopnemothorax, a collapsed lung, contusions on the other lung, a stellate fracture of the liver, a ruptured spleen, bruised kidneys, a broken nose, cheekbone, crushing fracture of the hand, and a dislocated knee, with a chipped patella. Added to that, she's been beaten, whipped, and branded," Sean listed off quickly.

"Dear God, Sean, bring her; we'll do what we can." Dr. Arres' head disappeared with a pop; Sean blew out the flame, and placed the portable floo phone back in the glove compartment.

Snape leaned forward. "Sean, if the hospital isn't equipped for trauma, it is wise to take Elizabeth there? Her injuries aren't easy to repair."

Sean turned around and smiled at Snape. "Severus, Sulis Minerva hospital has some of the finest mediwizards in England, probably in Europe. They just don't take in emergency cases in general. They prefer to let St. Mungo's handle the general mayhem, while they take the more specialized cases."

"But if they don't have experience with trauma…"

"They do, trust me." The van pulled up to a large manor house with rambling gardens. Displayed above the front door was a stone figure, a man's face surrounded by waving locks of hair that bore a remarkable resemblance to snakes. The serpentine theme was continued as two of the locks truly became snakes that twined around a staff, forming a caduceus, the ancient sign of healing. Below the Gorgon's head, a group of wizards and witches dressed in robes of pale green were gathered around a gurney.

"Sean, why do I have the feeling that this is no ordinary hospital?" Severus asked curiously.

"Because you have very well-developed instincts. Let's go." Sean opened the sliding door and levitated Elizabeth onto the gurney.

A tall, willowy brunette stepped forward. She placed her hand gently on Elizabeth's forehead, muttered a spell, and stared into the distance for a moment. She then stepped back and smiled at Sean.

"Very good scanning Sean. You didn't miss a thing." She turned to the mediwizards waiting her direction and began giving commands. "Take her to the larger treatment room, prep her for surgery, and get stools for everyone. This is going to be a very long session."

The team entered the hospital with Sean, Shelly, and Snape following with Dr. Arres, the mediwitch.

"Sean, how are you connected with this child?" she asked. "Can I count on you to undertake the repairs on her hand? You are the best orthotic wizard in the hospital."

Sean flushed with pleasure at the praise. "Thank you, Rebecca; there is no higher compliment you could give me. The girl is Professor Snape's niece. I'm merely a concerned friend; you can count on my focus for the task."

They had reached the doors to the treatment room, and Dr. Arres stopped Snape with a hand laid on his arm.

"Severus, do you remember me?"

Snape's brows drew together as he tried to place the woman in his memory, and figure out why she was asking. Finally his shook his head no.

"I was head girl your first year at Hogwarts," she said quietly.

Snape's eyes widened in delayed recognition. "Rebecca Danilson? Oh my." He flushed slightly at his tactless words. "Sorry, you—well, you—,"

"I grew up, Severus, as you did. I ask you, because when you were eleven, you trusted me, very deeply. I need to ask you to do so again. Your niece's life hangs in the balance right now, but I give you my word, as an old friend, as a Slytherin, and as a mediwitch, that I will heal her." She smiled, gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, gestured for Sean to precede her into the room, and then shut the door firmly in Snape's face.

He walked up to the window in the door and peered through. Elizabeth was lying on a table, with the mediwizards sitting on stools around her. Dr. Arres sat at Elizabeth's head, while Sean sat down on the empty stool at Elizabeth's left hand. Snape could faintly Dr. Arres' voice through the door.

"Right then, here's the plan. Orthopedic team, I want you to realign the broken bones and hold them in place. Benton, Sean, when you have her knee and hand done, we're going to use those new splints. Internists, you are only to stop the bleeding and repair life-threatening damage; leave any general bruising. The rest of you are to seal each visible wound—seal it only, do not attempt to close it. Does everyone understand?"

A witch with black hair looked questioningly at Dr. Arres. "Doctor, why are we doing such scant repairs? Why, with the internal injuries, she'll be bed-ridden for a week, and if we don't fully repair her leg, she won't walk without help for months!"

Dr. Arres looked at the rest of the mediwizards in the room. "Can anyone explain to our newest resident why we are seemingly leaving this patient with multiple injuries?"

Sean sighed, "Alice, it's the law of exponents. With the amount of damage the child has sustained, if we were to put full-power healing spells on each injury, the energy the spells took from her would kill her. We have to balance every spell together so that they support each other and heal her completely."

Alice had an obstinate look on her face. "Then why can we not use potions to do some of the healing? We should be able to do more than this!"

Another mediwitch leaned forward to look Alice in the eye. "Same problem there, dear. If we gave her the potion to replace blood loss, and the potion to heal burns, the ingredients would combine to form a deadly poison. Even with using less power to our spells, they would counteract each other, or become counterproductive if Dr. Arres was not monitoring the spells and tying them together. Trust us, dear, it's the best we can do."

Their conversation and debate was cut off by a groan from the figure on the bed. Dr. Arres placed one hand of each of Elizabeth's temples and closed her eyes to concentrate. Her voice became soft and detached. "The spell is ending; prepare yourselves." In moments, a pale light shimmered as the spell ended, and Elizabeth was brought back to life, if not consciousness. The room filled with muttered spells, waving wands, and low-voiced questions and commands as the life-saving work began.

A/N: Special thanks goes out to my dear friend Mac, who pulled out her paramedic textbook, as well has her notes from Anatomy and Physiology class to help me classify all of the damage I did to poor Elizabeth. Also, shout out to my roomie and beta reader Aren for making this readable. Sorry this was a day late on the posting schedule, but I left my laptop power cord at school over the weekend, and my battery ran down. Oops.


	8. When You're Evil

**8. When you're evil**

Shelly let Snape watch through the window for a short while, but then she dragged him away to the waiting room. Unlike Muggle hospitals, this waiting room was comfortable, with couches and soft chairs, decent food available, and reading material that was updated more than every five years. Connected to the room were alcoves with beds and several bathrooms that included showers.

Shelly looked Snape over with a critical eye. "Right then, Severus. We need to get you ready for part two."

Taking a deep breath, Snape rubbed his hands over his face. "I place myself in your hands, Shelly, You know better than I what look I need."

Shelly gave an evil grin. "Oh, I'd really hoped you'd say that," she said, pulling out a bag from her pocket and enlarging it with her wand. "First things first: you need to get in that shower."

"Excuse me?" Snape glared at her audacity.

"I know that you showered this morning, Severus, but that was before you spent an hour destroying your sister's house. You have plaster in your hair. Besides, you didn't use the shampoo and toothpaste I specifically set out for you."

Snape slouched in a chair. "Why do you care so much if I use that damn shampoo? You are married, and I'm not interested."

Shelly matched his earlier glare with one of her own. "Look, you bloody, infuriating man; I care because once, just once, I would like to see one of my best friends looking his best. I am so bloody tired of people referring to you as a greasy git. If you would just use the damn shampoo, as you so charmingly name it, and the toothpaste that are designed to strip the potions residue you are steeped in, you would actually look presentable!"

"That would imply that I gave a damn about what anyone thinks, Shelly, and I don't. So, back off!" He rose from his chair and was standing nose to nose with Shelly, both glairing for all they were worth. With a growl, Shelly shoved the bag into his chest with enough force to knock him back a step.

"Look, you bloody arsehole, you said that you would let me set this up. Well, I'm telling you that you need to get your arse in the shower now!" With a huff she sat down in an empty chair and burst into tears.

"Bugger it all, Shelly," Snape said with a touch of desperation. "I'll do it, calm down."

Shelly sniffed and wiped her face with both hands. "I'm not crying because of you, you git, I'm bloody pregnant, and I start crying for no reason at all!" She gave one watery laugh. "However, if I had known that you were susceptible to female tears, I'd have tried crying buckets long before this."

"Shelly, any man who claims not to freak out over a woman crying is lying. There is nothing any man hates more than making a woman cry when he didn't mean to. You put your feet up and have a cup of tea, I'll be back." He left, firmly pulling the bathroom door closed behind him.

Thirty minutes later, he climbed out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around his waist. It had taken three washings with _The Potion Master's Shampoo_ to fully strip the built-up residue from his hair. Although vanity was the last thing anyone would accuse him of, he did take pride in his appearance. However, standing over a steaming cauldron, with God knows what fumes, at all hours of day and night, had covered each strand of his hair with a residue that was impenetrable to most cleansers—at least, any that would leave you with hair when you finished. Until recently, the stringy, seemingly unwashed, lank hair was the trademark of any full-time potions maker; it was the greater number of women entering the field that had led to developments in products that could actually deal with the built up residue. This shampoo actually claimed that with regular usage, it could prevent the build-up in the first place; he would believe that when he saw it.

He wiped the mirror free from steam and considered his teeth in the reflection. Years of dosing himself with any number of antidotes to the various poisons Voldemort and his followers preferred had taken their toll as well. Shaking his head, he tried the _Glitter White Toothpaste (make your mouth Glitter White in just one use!)_ that Shelly had stuffed in the bag as well. It did seem to have some effect, but he decided to let Shelly be the judge.

From the bag he pulled out the clothes Shelly had chosen for him. A thin slate-gray silk sweater with a mock turtleneck was first, followed by trousers and a jacket of the finest black wool. He dressed, pulled his boots back on, ran his fingers through his damp hair, and reentered the waiting room. Shelly was talking to a witch dressed in nurse's robes, and he waited for a pause in their conversation.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Well?"

Both women turned to him, and the nurse's jaw dropped. "Professor Snape?" she asked in amazement. He raised a brow at her reaction.

She blushed slightly and shook her head in wonder. "Wow, Professor, I had no idea." She turned to Shelly and asked, "Does he have any appearance charms on right now?" Shelly shook her head no. The nurse turned back to Snape. "Do you normally wear an appearance charm?"

Snape sighed, "No, Miss Appleton, I do not." Really, this was getting to be a bit much. The woman had been his student until a few short years ago, and her frank approval was a little discomforting.

The nurse grinned. "Well, Professor Snape, I am impressed. You look completely different, and I have to say, if you looked like that on a day-to-day basis, you would have a lot more people interested in taking and succeeding in potions—a lot more girls at least. I'd take a potions class from you any day of the week." With a giggle that caused him to grimace in pain, she left the room.

Shelly tried unsuccessfully to smother a grin. "Dear God, was she for real? I can just imagine your potions classroom with a cluster of love-sick girls researching lust potions in the hopes of catching your fancy."

Snape was horrified. "I did _not_ need that mental image, thank you very much. What's next in this lovely little charade?"

Shelly handed Snape a wallet, set of keys, and class ring. The ring was engraved with University of Edinburgh and a graduation date, which corresponded with his Potions Mastery. Snape opened the wallet to check the identification and promptly threw the wallet to the table in disgust.

"Shelly, I swore twenty-two years ago that I would never again answer to the name Stephen Slate. He ran away from home when he was sixteen and has not been seen since. It was a good riddance to him, the miserable wretch."

Shelly picked up the wallet and flipped through the license, credit cards, and money. She snapped the wallet closed and slapped it to his chest.

"Stephen Slate is the acknowledged brother of Ann Grey _née_ Smithson. If you want to follow this plan, you will have to become Stephen Slate. He has a history, which contrary to popular belief, did not end when he was sixteen. He completed his education at the boarding school he attended, then continued on to the University of Edinburgh on a scholarship to study chemistry. He continued straight through with grants and scholarships until he gained a doctorate of chemistry. He has been teaching there since, and I have all the documents to prove it."

Snape considered the wallet with a grimace and shoved it into his back pocket. The ring slid onto his hand, and he jingled the set of keys. "So does this mean I have a car?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"How else were you going to arrive at her front door?" Shelly asked. "It's out in the parking lot; follow me." They went back through the halls of the hospital, into the late morning light.

Shelly paused before leading Snape to the car. "Now, Severus, you need to understand that when this is done, the car is going back to the ministry, and it must go back in the same condition."

"Shelly, why would I want some stodgy Ministry car?" Snape asked in confusion.

Rather than respond, Shelly gestured to a car parked at the curb. Snape's jaw dropped and he turned to Shelly with a pleading expression on his face. "Please Shelly, I want it. I really, really want it. I'll buy it from you, whatever you want. Please?"

Shelly laughed and shook her head. "No, Severus. You can't have it. I will take it back to the Ministry when this is over."

Snape ignored her in favor of looking over his car. Until Shelly pried the keys from his fingers, this car was his, all his.

It was a Jaguar. A Slytherin-green, two-seater, Jaguar convertible with silver chrome trim. The top was down, and he could see the black leather interior. It was a dream of a car, one that, if he'd had the opportunity to choose, was exactly what he'd have chosen. He slid one hand over the bonnet of the car. Oh yes, Shelly would have a fight on her hands to get this car back.

Shelly's voice interrupted his musings. "The car has all the standard wizarding features, along with some not-so-standard, which means that this car will drive itself. All you have to do is sit quietly behind the wheel."

Snape turned to her in shock and dismay. "No, you can't do that! Take them off; I want this car to be completely under my control, no one else's."

Shelly gave a disbelieving snort. "Like you even know how to drive a Muggle car, and even if you did, this is no normal car, Severus."

"I know how to drive! Sean taught me after he learned. His dad even let us take his car out to practice."

Shelly's jaw dropped. "Phillip Murray allowed you to drive one of his toys? You must have been adept at the time. How long has it been since you were behind the wheel of a true car though, Severus?"

"Ten years, but you don't forget things like this." Snape knew he was begging, but he couldn't help it. To be handed a beautiful car like this, and then told that he could only pretend to drive it was maddening.

Shelly considered for a moment. "I'll take off the safeguards so you can drive around the parking lot. If you do that well, then I will let you drive the car. But you have to promise me that you'd be careful! The car has to go back in the same condition, or I'm buggered. I had to pull a lot of strings to get this, and it's my word and reputation on the line if anything happens." She waved her wand in a complicated pattern and stepped back.

Snape got in the car, started it with a roar, and sedately and carefully drove through the parking lot. When he got back to the curb, he pulled up and turned off the ignition. "Well?" he asked.

Shelly smiled. "All right, Severus, you can drive the car yourself. Last few things before you go. There is luggage in the trunk; if you have to stay longer than a week make sure you send the clothes out for cleaning. The address for your hotel is in the glove compartment, and your reservation is set. Remember your cover, especially when you are with the police and inspectors. They will have to question you as part of procedure. Also remember, you are a well-paid university professor, so you can afford nice clothes, food, accommodations, and this car, but your funds are not unlimited. I'll pop over every night to your hotel room, once you tell me which one it is, to let you know how Elizabeth is doing. Make sure you use the doors, or don't be gone long, because they will want to keep an eye on you. Good luck, Severus." She stepped back once more and waved.

Snape started the car again and peeled out of the parking lot with the sound of screeching tires, the scent of burned rubber, and Shelly's exasperated, "Severus!" drifting behind him.

He drove through back roads and throughways until he met up with the highway thirty-five kilometers out of town. He drove up the entrance ramp and made his way back into Bath. He stopped at a petrol station to fill the tank and ask for directions to his hotel. The attendant was more than happy to sell him a map to the city and almost kept from drooling over the car as he filled the tank with petrol, cleaned the windshield, checked the oil, and did anything else he could to have an excuse to touch the car. Snape put up with it with a smirk before extracting his car from the attention.

Though he would normally have snarled or glared, this was part of his alibi. The attendant would certainly remember him and vouch for his presence, and the receipt was time-stamped as well. He pulled up to the hotel and tipped the valet well to keep his car quickly available for errands. His bags were carried inside, and he chatted with the desk attendant while checking in and getting his room key.

Snape didn't know how closely he would be investigated as part of Elizabeth's murder, but it was always better to err on the side of caution. His fictitious background would withstand any check, but the immediate alibi was always the most vulnerable. Having people in the town think him polite, sociable, and well-off would be as important as the rest of the preparations. People didn't go out of their ways to help a snarky bastard; of that he was well aware.

His room was well-appointed, and his luggage was sitting on the stand, his garment bag hanging in the wardrobe. He tipped the bellman, dismissed the offer for room service, quickly unpacked his things, and headed out once more.

The hotel gift shop was his first stop. He headed straight for the young woman standing behind the counter. She took in the fine cut of his suit and flashed a winning smile. "May I help you sir?" she asked.

_Remember,_ Snape told himself sternly,_ you are charming and gracious. No comments, glares, or nasty replies allowed, even if she is an empty-headed idiot._

"Yes," he said with a self-conscious smile, "I have a bit of an odd question to ask you."

The woman nodded for him to proceed.

"Well, if a relative of yours, say a brother, were to show up on your doorstep after being gone for a long time, say twenty years, what sort of a gift would he need as a bribe to get through the doors and have a chance to talk to you?"

The woman blinked a few times as she processed his question, then her face melted in pity with a slight touch of incredulity.

"Twenty years?" she asked, "You haven't seen your sister in twenty years?"

_Time to lay it on thick,_ _but not too thick—must be believed after all._

"I'm not proud of the fact. The truth is, I had a falling-out with my father when I was a boy, and he told me to leave. When he died a few years later, I figured no one would want to see me. But lately, I've realized that I can't continue like this. I've missed out on most of my little sister's life, and I don't want that anymore. Life is too short."

The woman laid a hand over her chest. "Oh, you poor thing! Let's see what we can do. Does your sister know you are coming?"

"No, a friend of mine happed to see her and told me she was living here. I decided to drive down from Edinburgh, to try and reconcile with her. I didn't want to take the chance of calling and having her tell me not to come."

The woman cocked her head to the side. "Edinburgh?" she asked, "Really, you don't sound Scottish at all."

Snape smiled at her. "I teach at the University. I grew up in the London countryside."

The clerk nodded and smiled again. "Here's what we're going to do. I'll call down to the florist, and he is going to bring you a dozen lovely white roses, all arranged in a vase. Then, we're going to pick out a box of chocolates and a lovely scarf for your sister. The combination of roses, chocolates, and a pretty something shouldn't fail."

She put her words into action, and in a short time, Snape was presented with the chocolates and a wrapped package that held the silk scarf he had selected. He paid for them and for the roses, which arrived a few minutes later, with the credit card in his wallet. The money would be deducted from his Gringott's account, but he considered it money well spent. He would pass them all on to Shelly to give to Elizabeth.

"Good luck, Mr. Slate," the woman said as she handed him back his card and the receipt. "I hope it all turns out for the best."

"Thank you," he responded, and then added, "And thank you also for your help. I'm sure my sister will enjoy these, even if things don't go well." He slipped the scarf box into his jacket pocket and balanced the chocolates and the roses in the crook of his arm. Once outside, the valet retrieved his car and showed him on the map how to reach Upper Oldfield Park. Snape drove away, relishing the next scene he would play.

He pulled into the drive of his sister's house and sat in the car for a short time, letting any nosy neighbors get a good look. He got out, walked around to the passenger seat to get the presents, and then looked up at the front door. Giving a sigh he walked slowly to the door. He rang the bell and waited for a minute before checking his watch and trying to look through the little window next to the door. He rang the bell again, then knocked on the door. It opened under his hand, and he peered inside, staying in sight on the front step.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anybody home? Ann? Hello?" He looked around the entryway and saw the destruction. _Wow, we did more damage than I thought we did_. He backed slowly away in shock, put the gifts quickly back in the car, and ran for the neighbor's house. No one answered his frantic knocking, so he ran to the next house. Again, no one was home, but at the third house a woman came to the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked timidly, keeping the door mostly closed.

"Please, I need to use your phone," Snape said. "I think there's been a break-in at Number 23." The woman looked at him in surprise, but opened the door and showed him to the kitchen. When the emergency operator answered, he said in a shaky voice, "Hello, I need to report a possible break-in. Number 23 Upper Oldfield Park."

"Yes, sir, is this your house?" asked the operator.

"No, it belongs to my sister. I went to knock on the door and it was open, and the front room looks like someone trashed it."

"Did you go inside the house, sir?"

"No, I called out, but no one answered."

"Where are you calling from, sir?"

"It's a neighbor's house. The owner let me in to use the phone."

"Very well, sir, we are sending a car to Number 23. Please wait outside the house you are calling from for officers to arrive."

"Thank you, I'll be there. Tell them to hurry."

"I will, sir. They will be there in under ten minutes." The operator hung up, and Snape replaced the phone.

He turned to the woman, who was standing by the table, watching him. "Thank you, they're sending the police over."

The woman nodded. "That's the house just across the street isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, do you know the people who live there?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I see the two boys playing cricket sometimes, and the little girl on her way to or from school. They tend to keep to themselves."

"Do you know if they were home today?" Snape asked.

"I don't think so," she told him. "I was up early this morning with the baby, and I think I recall seeing a car pull out of the drive. It was still dark, so I couldn't tell you who was in the car. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Snape assured her, "They told me to wait outside for the police, so I should go. Thank you, again, for letting me use the phone." The woman smiled and let him out. He sat on the front stoop waiting for the police to arrive.

He was pleased to see that the emergency dispatcher had taken his concerns seriously. The police car did not have its siren on, but it did arrive in well under ten minutes. Two officers got out, one tall and skinny with brown hair, the other at least six inches shorter, built like a marine. The tall one came over to Snape.

"I'm Officer Winterman," he said, extending a hand. "This is my partner, Lieutenant Pate. I understand you found something disturbing here."

Snape shook Winterman's hand. "I am Stephen Slate. My sister Ann lives across the street; I had come to surprise her and end a long estrangement with my family. When I knocked on the door, it opened, and, well, you can see for yourself, it's trashed. I went across the street to call you, but I didn't go inside or anything."

Lieutenant Pate went up the front steps and pushed the door open. "Hmm, I can see what you mean," he said, looking around the entryway. "Andy, radio for a scene-of-crime crew; we need to check the house for people."

Winterman went back to the car and folded himself into the front seat. Pate took a notepad from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Could I get your name again please?" he asked, clicking a pen open.

"Stephen Slate."

"And an address?" Lt. Pate wrote quickly on the pad.

"I live at the University of Edinburgh. I'm a professor there. Right now I have a room at the Central Hotel."

"Your sister's name?"

"It's Ann. Ann Grey. Her husband's name is William, I think. I've never met him."

"Do you know how many other people reside at this home? Any children?"

"I'm not sure. The neighbor said Ann has children, she mentioned two boys and a girl, but she didn't say how old they are. Lieutenant, I have not seen or spoken with my sister in over twenty years. I really can't tell you much."

"Why did you decide to visit now, and without calling?" Lieutenant Pate asked suspiciously.

_And the interrogation begins. Anything I say can and will be used against me._

"An old friend of mine saw her and told me she was living in town. I did a little research and decided to come between my summer classes and the start of the fall term at the University."

"The friend's name?"

"Sean Murray. He's a doctor here in town."

That was true. Sean was listed as a doctor at the city's hospital. All the mediwizards were; it was part of their training to have an internship at a Muggle hospital, as well as the Wizarding hospital they served at. In times of emergency, all mediwizards could be called on to help with victims.

Officer Winterman returned from requesting the scene-of-crime officers. He and Lieutenant Pate drew their guns and went to the door.

"You need to stay outside and out of the way now, Mr. Slate," Lt. Pate informed Snape, who nodded and walked to his car, opened the door, and sat sideways in the front seat.

Pate knocked loudly on the door. "Somerset Police!" he called loudly. "Is there anyone inside?" There was no answer, and the two policemen went inside carefully, checking the rooms for any people. Snape watched his watch, timing how long it took for them to reach the basement and find the body. He heard the shout all the way outside, courtesy of the windows the vandals had broken in the basement.

"Jesus Christ!"

It sounded like Lieutenant Pate was checking the basement.

Snape's assumptions were verified with the next shout: "Winterman, call an ambulance, there's a body down here!"

Winterman must have done that with the radio on his belt because he didn't come outside. In two minutes, an ambulance raced to the house, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Snape stood as the attendants raced past him with medical bags.

"What's going on?" he asked, putting a touch of fear in his voice, "Is someone hurt?" The paramedics did not answer, but pelted into the house. Two more cars pulled up. Lieutenant Pate came to the door to meet the three people who got out.

"What do we have?" asked a woman with short brown hair.

"Either a robbery that became a murder, or a robbery that stumbled over a murder," Pate answered quietly.

Snape whirled to face him. "What?" he cried, "Murder? Who was hurt? Was it Ann? Her husband? Oh God, please not one of her children!"

A man with hair so short as to be bald laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "Sir, why don't you come over here with me?" He led Snape to the side of the drive.

While the police did their work in the house, Snape was questioned again. The first news cameras had arrived before the police were finished. Snape inwardly gritted his teeth and allowed the cameras to get wonderful close angles of his worry and uncertainty. When the ambulance attendants exited the house, the cameramen were practically climbing over each other to show the covered form on the gurney. Snape felt himself pale and struggled against the restraining hands of the police officers. The cameramen captured his anguish on film, creating wonderful footage for the six o'clock news.

A/N: The title from this chapter is from Voltaire's song by the same name. It is a wonderfully snarky song, and it fit perfectly. Stay tuned for the rest of the revenge and the aftermath. Also, I know that the Miranda Rights are completely American, but I decided to leave them in Snape's thoughts anyway. Maybe he caught a couple of episodes ofLaw and Orderwhen he was younger.


	9. Film at Six

**9. Film at Six**

The clerk from the hotel gift shop was sitting in the hotel bar with friends, having a pint before going home. The news was on the telly hung above the bar. The top story caught her eye, and she gave her full attention to the news.

"What should have been a lovely tale of a family reunited became a tragedy instead today in the city of Bath. We take you live on location with the story."

The camera showed footage of a neighborhood—the houses, parks, shops and schools—as the reporter's voice over began.

"In this quiet neighborhood, one would expect to see children playing tag in the street, or riding bikes to visit chums. For one child though, this seems not to be the case." The camera flashed a school picture of a girl with long, mahogany brown braids, smiling shyly.

"Elizabeth Grey, age eleven was found murdered this afternoon, in the basement of her home. Police sources indicate that she died of a brutal beating that apparently happened the evening before. Our story does not stop there, however."

Now the reporter himself stood on camera, backed by a house cordoned off with police tape.

"There was a dark irony at work today. Elizabeth was found by the police, while they were investigating a robbery at the house reported by this man."

A tall man, with slightly long black hair, dressed in a well-tailored business suit graced the screen. He was talking to several police officers, a saddened look on his face.

"Stephen Slate arrived today to visit his only sister, whom he has not seen in twenty years. He found the door to the house ajar, and the rooms inside destroyed. What he did not know was that the body of his niece was lying downstairs."

There was video of a small form on a gurney, being taken from the house, covered by a blanket. On the side of the picture, the man could be seen, his face shocked and dismayed, as he struggled to reach the stretcher before it was loaded in an ambulance and taken away. The reporter appeared once again on the camera.

"Police are investigating the matter carefully."

The picture changed again, to show the local police chief standing behind a bank of microphones. "At this time, we appear to have two separate crimes and are treating them as such. The first is the robbery and vandalism of the house, which appears to be the work of a team of professional thieves, who style themselves as workers for an interior _re_design company by the name of Messrs. Pilfer, Bullocks and Toss. The second crime is the murder of Elizabeth Grey. For this crime, we have begun looking closer to home, at the very family of the victim." Voices shouted out questions, and the man motioned for one reporter to ask his burning question.

"What about the man who reported both crimes? Are you investigating him?"

The police chief shook his head. "Other than being the unfortunate person to discover the robbery, there is no evidence linking Professor Slate to either crime."

"You said you are looking close to home in the murder. Do you suspect the victim's parents then?" another reporter shouted over the din.

"In most cases involving the death of a child, one or both parents are found to be involved. It is standard practice to investigate the family in a murder," the chief responded. The picture cut back to the newscaster in the studio.

"Though Chief Jones was unwilling to comment further on the investigation, an unnamed source has told us that quote, "There is ample evidence in the house of long term abuse of the victim," end quote. At this time, we would like to extend our deepest sympathies to the family and friends of Elizabeth Grey." The picture returned once more to Professor Slate. He now stood before the bank of microphones, holding the picture of Elizabeth that had been flashed on the screen earlier.

"I have long regretted my estrangement from my sister, but never more than today, when my absence has now prevented me from ever knowing my niece. I do swear that in her memory, I will assist the police in any way to finding who did this to her, and I will stand for her, that the criminals be prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

The news went on with other stories, and the gift shop clerk turned to her friends.

"Blimey, the poor man! I helped him earlier today, I did, and a nicer man you could never hope to find." A few of the others who had happened to meet "nice Mr. Slate" agreed with her, and they lifted their glasses in a small toast to him and went on with their evenings.

A/N Ancalimë: As much as I would love for Elizabeth to come back and take personal revenge on her father, I think this hits him where it hurts a little more. After all… he now has no money to hire a lawyer, and I don't think the judicial system is going to provide him with a top-notch defense attorney. Though his family could afford to hire one for him, I don't think they'll want the publicity. They would rather go on with their twisted little lives and let him dangle in the wind. For better or for worse, Elizabeth Grey is dead.

To all who have taken the time to review, I thank you. I hope you enjoy this installment.


	10. And the Plot Thickens

**10. And the Plot Thickens**

Three-quarters of a mile away from the Grey House, another person was watching the news that evening. The woman had been half-listening, sipping a mug of tea while she and her niece started dinner. The tea slowly spilled to the floor, followed by the mug, which shattered on the tile. The woman did not notice, though, as her ears rang and her vision narrowed in shock.

"Aunt Miranda, what's wrong?" the niece came around the counter and placed a hand on her aunt's back. She focused on the telly as well, and felt her eyes widen. Her first concern though, was the woman beginning to shake standing next to her. She led Miranda to a chair, helped her to sit, and briskly rubbed one cold hand between her own.

"What is it? Did you know her?"

Miranda gave a short, mirthless laugh. "You could say that. I was her teacher last year in school. Dear God, did you hear them? They said she was beaten, that there was evidence that it had gone on for a long time. If that's true, what have I done? I never noticed anything. I never said anything. It's my fault. That poor little girl is dead, and it's my fault."

"Aunt Miranda, how can you say that? You didn't hurt that child, it isn't your fault," the girl admonished her. The phone rang and interrupted them.

Miranda reached out one trembling hand and lifted it to her ear. "Hello?" she answered, her voice shaking a little. "Yes, I just saw on the news," she responded to the person on the other end. "Wednesday? What time? I'll be there. Is there anything you need me to do?" There was a long pause then she answered, "No, I understand. No, thank you, I'll be fine. Yes, yes, I will. Good-bye." She placed the phone down again and turned to her niece. "I know this isn't what you had in mind when you asked to visit, but I have to ask you for a huge favor. Elizabeth's funeral is on Wednesday morning. Would you go with me, please?"

"Of course I will, Aunt Miranda." The girl walked to the kitchen window and looked out the window. She would go to the funeral to support her aunt, but she had some hard thinking to do first. Mainly, what she could say when she faced her feared potions teacher? She had no idea why he was using an assumed name, but the grief on his face was real.

Hermione Granger was a lot of things, but a diplomat was not one of them. She knew this was no time for Gryffindor bluntness, but the proper response was unclear.

A/N: This little plot bunny will grow up into a full-grown plot development… just give it a little time to mature.


	11. Flicker of a Future

**11. A Flicker of a Future**

Snape returned to his hotel room with a sigh of relief. It had been a long, tiring day, and he was looking forward to answering no further questions this evening. He froze midway through his sigh, realizing that he was not alone in the room. He spun, wand held surreptitiously in hand. If the intruder was merely housekeeping, the wand would not be noticed; if he or she was a wizard, he was ready to defend himself. What waited for him, though, was neither wizard nor Muggle; two house-elves, neatly dressed in hospital-issued towels, sat on the couch by the phone. Snape slid his wand back up his sleeve and raised an eyebrow to the waiting elves. One stood and bowed in greeting.

"To whom do I owe the _honor_ of your presence?" Snape asked with a sarcastic twist to his lips.

"We is sent here by Doctor Mrs. Arres. We is to be helping Professor Mr. Snape while he is traveling between the hospital and hotel," the standing elf replied.

Snape shook his head. "This is a Muggle hotel. How am I supposed to explain the presence of two imaginary creatures to the staff? Though I appreciate the offer, I don't think you could offer much useful assistance."

The second elf rose from his seat to stand beside the first. "We is modern house elves, Professor Mr. Snape. While you is at the hospital, we is able to magic phone calls to you, get you back to answer the door, and handle all the details for your pretend funeral. We is much better at taking care of pesky details than you is, sir."

Snape was a little taken aback at the speech, but he was not yet mollified. "The funeral home is expecting me to call. How will you explain squeaky voices and improper grammar?"

The second elf gave him a smile that could almost be described as Slytherinish. "Wronky is very adept at imitating voices, sir, and will speak as you would to the funeral directors," he replied in an exact impression of Snape's voice.

Snape felt himself blink in surprise and tried to wipe the pole-axed expression he knew he was wearing. "Done," he replied, "You're hired."

"We wasn't interviewing Professor Mr. Snape, we was assigned. No one will know we is here, you go to the hospital now. Good-bye." The first elf made shooing motions with his hands and Snape Apparated to the arrival area of Sulis Minerva Hospital without another thought.

Sean wearily stood from the wall he had been leaning against and walked to Snape.

"It's done," he said with a sigh. "She will be fine, though it's going to be a long recovery. Dr. Arres has decided to put Elizabeth on the Aque Curativo potion so she can leave for Hogwarts on the Express. Otherwise, she would miss the first two weeks of school at a minimum."

"Aque Curativo?" Snape lifted an eyebrow. That was a class-four potion, highly regulated and highly dangerous. "Things were that bad?"

Sean sighed again and nodded. "If we had another month, it would be different. But Elizabeth needs to be on her feet much sooner. Dr. Arres will be meeting with Madame Pomfrey tomorrow to discuss Elizabeth's limitations and treatments. Now, I am under orders to take you to Elizabeth's room and hand you over to Shelly, so if you'll follow me?"

Sean led Snape through the halls of the hospital, up a flight of stairs, and down a long hallway. Two doors from the end, he knocked quietly and opened the door. Inside was a comfortable-looking bed, several armchairs, and a small table. It was lit dimly with lamps and the green glow of a fireplace in use as a Floo connection. Shelly was speaking with a head floating in the fireplace, shuffling through papers as she gave her report.

"That's about it, then," she said briskly. "I removed the child from the home and the Muggle world and will work tonight and tomorrow on placing her in the best situation. I'll send all this by owl; you should have it in the morning."

"Good work, Murray," the head in the fire replied. "Nasty bit of business to stumble onto, but you handled it well. I'll read over the reports and sign off the paperwork in the morning." The head disappeared and Shelly sat back in her chair with a relieved sigh.

"Everything in order then?" Sean asked her. Shelly startled slightly and turned.

"Yes, now that Mr. Hawkers has retroactively approved my decisions, we're all covered and legitimate. Sean, you go home and sleep. You look about to fall over." Sean waved and left the room.

Shelly motioned to the empty chair and Snape sat down. "How did things go today, Severus?"

"As we expected. The police are investigating, I seem to have been cleared, the news ran with the story, and the funeral is on Wednesday. What happens now with Elizabeth?"

Shelly rubbed her hands over tired eyes. "Now, I arrange her care. She'll stay at Hogwarts for the school year, but she'll need a place to stay during the summer."

"What are her options?" Snape asked quietly.

"There are four. The first, and least preferable, is that Elizabeth is declared a ward of the Ministry, and she stays at St. Mungo's or some other institution through her holidays. Second, she could be placed with a wizard family, sort of a foster care situation. Third, if you desire, you can claim guardianship and care for her, and fourth, you or someone else could adopt her."

Snape leaned back in surprise. "Adoption? How could that be?"

"As far as the Muggle world is concerned, Elizabeth is dead. Therefore, her parents have no claim or rights to her. So, she is eligible for adoption, if anyone wanted the responsibility."

"If I could be approved, I would like to be named as her guardian," Snape said quietly. "It would not be safe for Elizabeth to become a Snape. I have too many enemies, and my friends would be sorely tempted to use her as a hostage against my good behavior. As her guardian, I could be the reclusive uncle that no one sees, and her godparents could be the visible component of her care." Snape rested his chin on his hand and watched Shelly as she considered his request.

"I suppose that would work," Shelly said slowly. "Who would her godparents be, though?"

"I should think that would be obvious," Snape said. "You and Sean are the only people I truly trust."

Shelly blinked in surprise. "Severus, you give us a great honor. Thank you." She sat for a moment with a small smile lifting her lips, then shook her head quickly. "Sorry, back to the business at hand, eh? Tomorrow we will hold the naming and guardianship ceremonies. She can't be Elizabeth Gray any longer. Elizabeth Gray is dead. You have the privilege as her guardian to give her a new name. You may name her anything you like, except in regards to the last name. It must be in direct line of decent no further than three generations back. So, mother's, grandmother's, and great-grandmother's maiden names are all acceptable, as well as married names, so long as it's the marriage that the descendent hails from. Understand?"

Snape nodded slowly. There was something in the back of his mind that Shelly's words had reminded him of, something important, but he could not bring it to mind at the moment. He would have to consider her name carefully. There was a great deal of power in one's name, after all.

"Is that all, then?" he asked Shelly. "I would like to spend some time with Elizabeth before I must return to the hotel." Shelly nodded, and Snape went over to the bed where his niece lay. There was a handy chair next to the bed, and Snape sat down quietly and took her undamaged hand in his. He barely registered the door's opening and closing as Shelly left; his attention was fully on the small figure before him. Never before had he felt a protective urge quite like he did for this girl he hardly knew. It was strange, this feeling, as though he had been waiting for her his entire life. Not as though she was a soul mate, or the way that foolish romantic stories spoke of love at first sight. No, he rather thought he felt as a father would, at the first sight of a desired child. A mingling of joy, terror, pride, and sorrow—joy that the child was finally there, terror at the mistakes he could make in the raising of this child, pride that this child was his, and sorrow at the knowledge that he could not protect her from all of life's dangers, though he wished he could.

But why should he feel this way? He had never wanted children, never met a woman worth that kind of commitment, never felt a longing or a loss as the years went by. But now, this child seemed to fill a part of him that he never knew was empty. And frankly, it terrified him.

Snape had spent the last eighteen years laying his life on the line. Ever since he had turned into a double agent, he had known that every time he answered the call of the Dark Lord, it could be his last. It had never bothered him, until now. Now, there was something, someone, he cared enough about to desire to come home again. That was a dangerous position for a person gambling with his future. It would make him cautious, something he simply could not be.

"Elizabeth," he said quietly, "I want you to know that you're safe now. As safe as I can possibly make you. Right now, I can't give you everything I would like to, but I promise you, there will come a day when I will be able to. We'll both just have to hold on until then. Heal well, Elizabeth, be strong. I will return when I can; I promise." He squeezed her hand gently and was heartened when her fingers returned the pressure. He laid her hand back on the bed, carefully smoothed her hair away from her face, and then left silently.

A/N: And now the challenge begins… to make Snape into a reasonable guardian without making him a fluffy wimp or an overbearing gorilla. Let me know what you think as my characterization of him evolves.


	12. Request the Honor of Your Presence

**12. Request the Honor of Your Presence**

Snape returned to the hotel room and checked in with Wronky and Sisky. There had been no calls or visitors, but that was not surprising considering he had left for the hospital at 10. He looked longingly at the bedroom, the late night and long day catching up with him. Before he could even take one step though, there was a scratching at the window. Snape opened the window, expecting an owl to fly in. Instead, a cat sauntered through the opening, as though she regularly spent time on fourth story window ledges. Snape looked out the window and then back at the cat. She had seated herself on a couch cushion, as though the room were hers, and he the visitor.

"Where on earth did you come from?" Snape asked.

The cat did not answer him, but instead pulled a roll of parchment from her collar and tossed it to the table with a practiced flip of her head. Snape unrolled the parchment and sat down in shock as he read

_Your presence is required_

_At the convening of the assembly tonight._

_Take the kifflin into your arms_

_And you will be transported._

Snape looked at the cat. "I suppose you'd be the kifflin?" he asked sardonically.

The cat jumped from the couch to the table to the chair he was seated on, climbed up his chest, and batted his nose with her paw. Snape sighed, held the cat loosely in his arms and stood.

"Let's go then," he said.

No sooner had he spoken that the hotel disappeared and he was standing in another room, a stone hall echoing in its emptiness. There was a fire at one end, with a table set before it. Seated at the table were three women, who watched him expectantly; their ages were impossible to tell in the flickering light. The one in the middle stood, long blonde hair cascading over the shoulders of her robe.

"Welcome back to the manor house, Severus Snape," she said in a low, rich voice. The cat gave a "mrarw" and jumped from his arms.

Snape gave a bow and replied, "Thank you, My Lady. I must admit I was surprised to receive the summons, as the last time I was here I was told I was not welcome to stay."

The woman to the right tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and said, "Obviously things have changed, haven't they."

The first woman gave her a mild glare and continued. "It has come to our attention this evening that you have found something of value to us. And so, we wished to discuss your role in its protection."

Snape looked at the woman cautiously. "I'm afraid you will have to be a bit more specific, My Lady."

The woman shook her head. "That title is not mine, Severus. Please do not call me by it."

The third woman, who had yet to speak stood. "We speak of the Dafydd, Severus. You have found her, and have become her Guardian."

Snape stepped back in shock. "The Dafydd? Elizabeth is the Dafydd? I didn't know. And how did you find out I was made her guardian? The papers have not even been signed."

The woman shook her head. "Not guardian, Severus, Guardian. We do not speak of the legal responsibility of her care; we speak of her protection. Until the day you die, you are her protector. Her Guardian."

The blonde shook her head. "Though we would have never chosen you, powers wiser than ours have done so. When do you name her, and where?"

"At the hospital, tomorrow."

"So soon? Why do you not wait for the seven days? Is the infant unhealthy?"

Severus sent a blank look to the woman. "Infant? What are you talking about? Elizabeth is eleven years old. She is a witch, accepted at Hogwarts, starting in September. She is in the hospital because her Muggle parents beat her within an inch of her life, which is why I am becoming her legal guardian tomorrow."

The looks of shock, surprise, and confusion on the faces of the three women would have been enormously funny in other circumstances. The woman on the right recovered first. She pulled a large roll of parchment to her and unrolled the last inches. Holding it open with weights, she dipped a pen into ink and looked up at Snape.

"What is her lineage, Severus? Perhaps that will clear the confusion we have experienced."

"Elizabeth is the firstborn daughter, third child of Ann Smithson, the firstborn daughter, second child of Gwenhwyfar Rhiannon ApBrin, the firstborn daughter, first child of Rhiannon Addiena Dafydd."

The woman carefully wrote the names onto the parchment, waited for the ink to dry, then lifted her wand and gave a low voiced spell. The names shimmered with colored light, then turned to a softly glowing copper.

"Elizabeth is the true descendent of the last Dafydd. We assumed she had just been born, because she entered the Wizarding world only today. Regardless of the circumstances of her childhood, she is the Dafydd. Had your mother not been murdered all those years ago, your niece would likely be her heir; as it is, we have been waiting a long time for her."

Snape's head snapped up. "Murdered? Mother died in an accident. That's what the reports said."

The middle woman lifted her head slowly. "Did no one ever tell you, lad? Your mother was murdered by Voldemort to leave your grandmother without an heir. When she was killed two years later, we were left without a clear line of succession, and the magic that should have told us the next heir was suspiciously absent. Of course, now it makes sense: it was waiting for the first daughter of Gwenhwyfar's daughter to be born, to see if she had magic. If not, then the title would go the next closest bloodline, one of us." She gestured to the other two women. "It has been twenty years since a Daffydd last led our family, and we have held the power in place of the Lady. Now your Elizabeth will take up the title when she is prepared, and you shall be her Guardian. Guard her will, Severus, for she is your Lady. Tomorrow, one of us will be there as witness to the naming. Name her Elizabeth Rhiannon Daffydd, in the old way, and choose a name for her to use day to day, for her true name is one of power."

Before Snape could answer, the cat ran over to him and reared up, placing her paws on his legs. He was deposited back in the hotel, weary beyond belief, mind filled with unanswered questions. He collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed and slept like the dead until the phone woke him the next morning.

A/N: One quick word about my matrilineal Welsh family before I go on. The very first fanfiction I ever read was J.L. Matthews' _Slytherin Rising_. It had been a long time from that first reading to the development of the Dafydds in my story. I had forgotten that one of her main characters, Diana, is the next heir for a matrilineal Welsh family. I realized it, this past summer, when during a very long week at work, when I had nothing to do, I found the first three years of Slytherin Rising on another fanfic site, and reread them. I want to give acknowledgement to J.L. Matthews, but also wish to say that other than the surface similarities, the two families have little to nothing in common. Thank you, Krew.


	13. Running Out of Time

**13. Running Out of Time**

Tuesday raced by with planning and details and conversations with police. Ann and William had arrived home the previous evening and had been arrested before they could walk through the door. Thomas and Charles were sent to their grandparents, which would leave them in the same situation that had created their lack of morals, but that was beyond Snape's control. It looked as though both Ann and William would be charged with murder, unless Ann turned and gave testimony against William. The one time Snape had observed his sister through the mirrored glass at the station, it did not seem likely. When asked if he would like to speak with Ann, he had shaken his head no and left the station.

Funeral arrangements were progressing. The strongest disagreement Snape had with the funeral director was Snape's instance that the casket be open, and the bruises and wounds not be covered with piles of makeup.

"I want them to see what their blindness did to that child!" he had snarled at the funeral director. The compromise that left neither of them pleased was that the wounds would be softened, but not hidden.

"I will make her a figure of tragedy, not of horror," was the final words from the director.

With the rest of the plans, they had come to agreements quite easily. There was to be a monument rather than a headstone. The block of granite with Elizabeth's birth and death dates would be surmounted by a child angel, arms lifted high, about to step into flight. The epitaph would read: _Too soon she slipped the bonds of earth, to touch the face of God._ Though the quote was out of context, it was a polite slap in the face to the community's blindness to the situation.

Elizabeth's teacher had begged off giving the eulogy, saying she would not be able to speak. Instead, the headmistress of the school would give the simple facts of Elizabeth's short life. The hardest part was finding ways to fill the service. Elizabeth had been permitted no friends and was involved in no activities. Thankfully, her teacher had saved a piece of Elizabeth's writing. A girl from her class had been asked to read it, and at the graveside, everyone would be given a white tulip to place on the casket.

When evening finally arrived, and Snape was able to go to his room and hang the do not disturb sign on the door, he was once again ready to drop. The best he could do though, was drink a large mug of very black tea and prepare himself for the ceremonies at the hospital that evening.

XXX

He Apparated to the arrival area once again and was met by one of the women from the night before, the one who had sat on the right, with long dark hair. In the lights of the hospital, he saw her hair was a true black, and her skin was the porcelain fairness that marked her as Welsh.

"Good evening, Severus," the woman said with a regal head bow.

"Good evening," Snape replied, then gave a slight grimace. "I am afraid I must be rude and ask your name mi' lady, or I will be unable to properly introduce you."

The witch smiled broadly. "I am Branwenn Creiddyiad," she told him, "Your mother's cousin, which would make you my first cousin once removed, and Elizabeth my first cousin twice removed. Or you could just call me a cousin and make it easy on everyone."

Snape led her through the hospital to Elizabeth's room, where Sean and Shelly waited. The room was still dim, and Elizabeth still lay deeply unconscious. Snape turned to caution Branwenn before she entered the room.

"She looks worse than she really is," he told her. "The Mediwizards say she should awaken tomorrow at the latest."

Branwenn nodded, and walked into the room, to Elizabeth's side. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes filled with pity as she looked down on the broken body. She smoothed Elizabeth's hair off of her forehead and kissed her before she straightened to face Sean and Shelly. Snape took care of the introductions.

"Branwenn, may I introduce to you Sean and Shelly Murray, two of my oldest and closest friends, and instrumental members in rescuing, saving, and placing Elizabeth with me. Sean, Shelly, this is Branwenn Creiddyiad, a cousin on my mother's side. She is here as the witness for the ceremonies tonight."

All three nodded at each other in greeting, and Shelly walked to the table and lifted a sheaf of papers.

"Severus, have you ever been to a naming ceremony before?" she asked.

"No, I can't say I have, other than my own, of course."

"Of course. Let's walk through it then, so you know what to expect. Your lines are here on this sheet of paper." She handed a parchment to him. "You just fill in the blanks with the information as you come to them. After you name Elizabeth, you call her by the name you wish people to call her, either Elizabeth or a nickname of your choosing. You dip your wand in the oil here,"—she placed a jar of oil on the bedside table—"and trace the required symbols on her brow. Then you name her godparents, and we accept her and make our vows, and then we all sign the documents and place a drop of blood to seal the spells." Shelly placed a small silver knife on the table as well.

"The guardianship part is pretty similar, just read the lines off of this page, and we're good to go. Understand?"

Snape nodded slowly. "I believe so. Shall we begin?"

They gathered around Elizabeth's bedside, and Snape began to read.

"Child laying before me, born of Ann and William Grey, placed into my care, I name you"—he placed the end of his wand into the oil and began to trace a series of symbols on Elizabeth's forehead—"Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd. Ella, be known to your godmother, Rachelle Julianne Murray. Be known to your godfather, Sean Patrick Murray." Shelly and Sean stepped forward and each placed a hand on Elizabeth's head.

"Ella, Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd, we acknowledge you as our godchild. So long as we live, you shall never be without home, family, comfort, and protection," they said together, reading off of their own pages. Snape flipped to the second page in his hand.

"Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd, I, Severus Davigan Snape, claim you as my ward, and myself as your guardian. I vow to protect you, to care for you, and to treat you as my own. Ella," he broke away from the scripted words, "I cannot promise to keep from you all the ills and evil of this world, but I promise that I will be your refuge and I will guard and guide you with all my strength."

He went to the table and found the parchments that needed to be signed. He quickly signed his name and pricked his finger with the knife. He let one drop of blood fall to the parchment below his name, which began to glow. Sean, Shelly, and Branwenn followed suit, and then Snape took the knife to Ella's bedside. He took her hand in his and delicately pricked her finger. He took the single drop of blood he had drawn and let it fall to the papers as well. They flared brighter and disappeared from the table.

"Well that's it then; they are filed with the ministry, and it is all finished and legal," Shelly said with a smile.

"Not quite yet," Branwenn said. She walked back to Ella's side and took a wooden box from her robe. She opened it and took out a ring that twisted in Celtic knot patterns too complex to follow with the eye. She slipped the ring onto Ella's right hand ring finger.

"May you all be witnesses to fact that I name Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd the heir of the Lady and have given her the ring of her house. May she grow to her power and to her place." She stepped back, ignoring the looks of confusion on Sean and Shelly's faces. She nodded to Snape and said, "Be well, and farewell, Severus. Guard her carefully."

She left the room and Sean looked over at Snape and asked, "Care to share what that was about?"

"Can't," was all the answer Snape would give.

XXX

He returned to the hotel room, exhausted once again. As he fell into sleep, though, he was plagued by the feeling that he had forgotten something vitally important, and that he was out of time.

A/N: Chocolate Frogs go out to anyone who can identify the quote from Elizabeth's gravestone. If you guess right I'll give you credit in the next chapter update.


	14. Requiescat in Pachem

**14. Requiescat in Pachem**

Wednesday morning, Snape woke early as usual and lay staring at the ceiling as he thought over the plans for the day. That morning at nine was the funeral, to be completed at the graveside by eleven. Then, with a final check at the police station, he could leave this forsaken town and spend the rest of the summer break with Ella.

Suddenly he stiffened. It was Wednesday, and that evening the Dark Lord would call him to accept him back into the inner circle, or execute him as a spy. With everything else that had happened since Sunday, he had conveniently forgotten his "appointment."

Snape was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding. He would not be returning from tonight's meeting; he was stepping willingly into a trap. He laid his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do about it—if he did not go, he would be a doomed man anyway, and he would lead the Death Eaters to Hogwarts in search of him. Snape opened his eyes with renewed conviction. He would do anything in his power to survive tonight, but he would not put Ella into the path of Death Eaters. He threw back the covers and faced the day.

XXX

The funeral was a masterpiece. It was held in the chapel of Saint Catherine's School for Girls, where Ella had attended. The casket rested in the back of the chapel as people entered so that they would file past and see her. Snape stood to the side, observing the expressions of the students, parents, and teachers who had come. There were a few curiosity seekers, mingled with those who thought they should be there, but there were few who actually grieved. Of course, to grieve, one had to have known the deceased and feel emptiness at their absence.

Once the crowd was seated, six men walked over to the casket. They were fathers of girls at the school, and they had volunteered to carry Ella. As their spokesman had said, "We want to do right by her, as a father should."

They were only one group of many who had stepped forward in the last two days. Several mothers had asked the funeral director if they could help prepare the body. They had brought a simple white dress with a green sash, and had braided Ella's hair with small flowers and white ribbons. A group of girls had promised to lay flowers on the grave every month, and the entire school had begun a memorial fund that would support a children's safe house in the city.

Snape followed the casket to the front of the church, and sat alone in the front pew. None of the rest of Ella's family had been invited to the funeral.

The headmistress of the school spoke of a shy, intelligent child that no one had truly known. The saddest thing about the whole situation was that no one had realized until now how little they had known their classmate and student. No one had cared.

A girl walked to the front of the church wearing the same dress Ella was wearing. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, and Snape felt a chill go through him as she turned, appearing almost as the ghost of the child in the casket. This girl, though, was whole and unbroken, and her smile lit the chapel. She stepped to the podium and took out a paper—Elizabeth's final essay—aand began to read.

"What does freedom mean to me? It is a difficult question, and an even more difficult answer. I do not have freedom here, in my life, but every night, when I close my eyes, I fly away into freedom. In my dreams I am strong and happy, and I may choose the path my future will take, even if it is only for a moment.

"In my mind's eye, I walk through a green wood, where the trees grow straight and tall, and the sun shines through the leaves, giving a golden touch to all I see. In these woods I walk as tall as the trees, and the light lifts me up. I come to a clearing with many trails I could follow. Shall I go to the clear blue lake, where the mountains reflect as a world in reverse, or climb the path to the top of the mountains themselves? I could run through fields of flowers, or lay right here in the clearing, and watch the clouds float by on the wind. I know in my dreams any path I choose will lead me to joy and wonder, and all are traveled only by me. There is no pain or anger in these woods, and I know there is no wrong choice.

"One day I know that I will escape only to my dreams, and this world will fade away only to a dream, and the edges will become soft and hazy. One day, I know I will be free."

The girl stepped away from the podium, walked to the casket, laid one hand on the lid and whispered, "Good-bye." She whirled about and ran from the chapel, her hair trailing behind her.

When the girl had disappeared, the six fathers once again lifted the casket and carried it on their shoulders to the cemetery behind the school.

It was old, from the days when every church had its own graveyard. Most of the stones were weathered and crumbling. At the top of a small hill, under the shade of a tree, with the sun throwing golden light through the leaves, Elizabeth Ann Grey was laid to rest. Rather than dropping a handful of dirt, every person was given a white tulip to place on the casket, the creamy blossoms gently dropping off the sides as Snape placed the final flower and turned away.

XXX

He was walking to the limousine that would return him to his hotel when a woman laid a hand on his arm. She had brown hair, cut to her chin, which fell in thick waves. Her eyes were red from crying, and she bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"Mr. Slate?" she asked in a wavering voice.

"Yes?"

"I was Elizabeth's teacher this last year, and I was really hoping that I could speak with you." Her eyes welled up again, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief.

It was her obvious sorrow, combined with waves of guilt that were emanating from her that made Snape agree.

"Of course. The limousine was going to take me to the hotel where I am staying. There is a tea shop there, if you would care to accompany me?"

The woman nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Slate. Just let me tell my niece so that she doesn't wait for me." She waved at a slender girl standing off at the edge of the graveyard. The girl approached as Snape offered his arm to the teacher.

"Allow me," he said kindly, "There's no reason we shouldn't meet her halfway, Ms…" he trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the information.

"Granger," she said with a sad smile, taking his arm.

_Oh no! _He thought. _It couldn't be…_

"Hermione, Mr. Slate has offered me a cup of tea. I'll be going with him, and I'll take a cab home after." Hermione Granger looked at Snape with wide eyes. Snape couldn't help but poke at her a bit.

"No need, Ms. Granger. I will be happy to escort you home myself."

Hermione's eyes grew wider as she thought of her aunt in a car with a wizard behind the wheel. However, she allowed none of her apprehensions to be voiced.

"All right, Aunt Miranda," she said and turned to Snape. "Professor, allow me to express my condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," Snape said graciously. _Of all the people who had to have seen this, why did it have to be her? By the time the Hogwarts Express reaches the school, everyone will know, thanks to her big mouth!_

Snape led Miranda Granger to the limousine and allowed her to enter first. As the car pulled away, he saw Hermione follow them with her eyes, misgivings clearly evident.

XXX

In the teashop, their orders were filled before Miranda gathered the courage to bring up the reason she had asked to speak with Snape. He waited patiently, filling cups, offering the plate of sandwiches, and then settling back in his chair.

Miranda took a bracing sip of tea, sighed and met his eyes.

"Mr. Slate, the arrangements you made for Elizabeth were beautiful. I want to thank you for taking the time, effort, and expense for a child you didn't even know."

Snape allowed one eyebrow to lift slightly. "It seems as though no one else did, either," he said quietly.

Miranda flinched slightly. "We all deserve that judgment," she allowed, "but it was not intentional. Saint Catherine's is a very unique school which attracts and nurtures girls who are intelligent, outgoing, and leaders in many different ways. For a girl as quiet as Elizabeth was, it is easy to slip through the cracks. That is not a compliment to any of us. I would like to believe that I had been close to Elizabeth, because we had shared many conversations about her writing, her dreams for the future, her plans. But obviously, I wasn't, because how could I have missed what they were doing to her at home?" Her voice broke with an anguished sob. She fought for control and then continued, "I knew her father was a bully; I knew he didn't care about her. I could tell whenever we met. He treated every woman—his wife, me, the headmistress—as simpletons. I wanted to get Elizabeth away from him, but I just didn't see how I could. I didn't have any evidence that he was anything more than a selfish, uncaring bully. When Elizabeth told me that she wasn't going to a special school after graduation, I took matters into my own hands. I sent in applications to every quality boarding school I knew of, trying to get her as far away from him as I could. I thought that the danger she was in was having her spirit crushed, in accepting his view that she was worthless." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I guess that shows how observant I am. I even considered sending a letter to the headmaster of the boarding school my niece attends, though I knew it was impossible for her to attend."

Snape swallowed a sip of tea quickly before he could spit it out in surprise. She couldn't have meant Hogwarts—she couldn't know.

"Why would it have been impossible?" he asked innocently. "I've been told time and again these last few days that Elizabeth was very intelligent."

Miranda waved a hand. "The school Hermione attends cannot be applied for. One must be invited to attend, and have some very special qualifications." She bit her lip and looked away, a sign she felt she had said too much.

"What would those qualifications be?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Miranda assured him.

"You might just be surprised at what I believe."

"Mr. Slate, where do you work, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Snape smiled and took out a business card. "I teach at a very exclusive boarding school in Scotland," he told her.

As Miranda looked at the card, the letters twisted and blurred to form new words. Instead of reading _Stephen Slate, Doctor of Chemistry, Edinburgh University,_ they read_ Severus Snape, Potions Master, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Miranda dropped the card in shock, and the letters twisted back into their original lettering. Snape took it back with a slight smile.

Miranda was staring at him with a very confused expression. After allowing her to stare for a moment, he enquired, "Ms. Granger, are you all right?"

She shook her head and her eyes snapped back into focus.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish expression on her face, "I was just readjusting my mental image with the reality sitting before me."

Snape laid his elbows on the table, with steepled fingers brushing his chin. "May I say I am very surprised that Hermione has told you about Hogwarts at all?"

Miranda smiled. "She didn't, at least for the first three years. After her fourth year, though, Hermione needed to talk to someone, and her parents weren't listening. I have always been more of a big sister than an aunt to Hermione, so she came to me."

"It is strange that you mention having considered writing to Professor Dumbledore about Elizabeth," Snape said quietly. "You see, the only reason I came here in the first place is that my niece did not answer her letter from Hogwarts. But as you know, I was too late."

Miranda almost dropped her teacup in shock. Elizabeth had been days away from freedom. The irony of it all broke her heart.

"Instead you arrived to arrange for her funeral. I am sorry Professor, I truly am."

XXX

They spoke for the better part of an hour before Snape drove Miranda home. He noticed Hermione peeking out from behind the curtains as he pulled up to the curb. He opened the door and escorted Miranda to the front door. As Hermione opened it, he took Miranda's hand.

"Ms. Granger, thank you for your time this morning. You words were a comfort to me."

"And for me, Professor Snape," Miranda replied. Snape turned at Hermione's gasp.

"Miss Granger," his voice took on the silky tones that spelled danger for any Hogwarts student.

"Yes Professor?"

"I would ask you, please, to not spread the tale of my niece's death through the school."

"No, Professor, you have my word," Hermione pledged. Snape nodded and returned to his car. Hermione watched in wonder as he capably turned the Jaguar around and drove away.

"Hermione, dear," Miranda Granger said as they closed the door, "I can't believe all of what you said about Professor Snape. I spent over an hour in his presence, and he never once yelled, snarled, belittled me, or was sarcastic."

"Then you have had a novel experience, Aunt Miranda. But tell me, why in the world did he tell you who he really was?"

"I had told him that I had considered writing your headmaster, if I had thought it would do any good to get Elizabeth into your school. Your professor told me he came to Bath to find out why his niece hadn't responded to her acceptance letter."

"She would have been a first year?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Yes."

"No wonder he wants her death kept quiet. Now I feel doubly sorry for him; he'll be reminded of her every day at school next year. Oh no," she whispered in dread. "Classes with him are going to be a nightmare."

"Hermione," Miranda chastised her.

"I know, I know," Hermione said, her face buried in her hands, "Give him a break."

"I want you to give him more than a break, Hermione; he is really a lovely man."

"Aunt Miranda, you are bloody insane. You truly are. Lovely man indeed. Sheesh." Hermione walked away, shaking her head in disbelief.

A/N: And the Chocolate frog goes to jonquillejaune for finding the quote in the previous chapter. For anyone remotely curious, the epitaph for Ella is the first and last lines of a sonnet written by a nineteen-year-old RCAF pilot during WWII. The use of the two lines together was created by a very talented speechwriter, and delivered by President Reagan after the Challenger Space Shuttle explosion. The words were re-visited after the Columbia explosion, as well.


	15. Interlude

**15. Interlude**

There was a buzzing in her head. Someone was sending a radio signal straight to her brain, and they had it stuck between channels.

There was an elephant sitting on her chest, crushing it. She couldn't catch her breath, or draw enough air to call for help.

Perhaps the elephant was responsible for the radio signal, though why an elephant would want to send a radio signal to her brain, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe the radio was trying to tell the elephant to get off her, but they had the wrong channel—though the elephant was on her chest, not in her head. But the elephant was certainly still sitting on her chest.

And still the buzzing went on in her head.


	16. A Time for Every Purpose Under Heaven

**16. A Time for Every Purpose Under Heaven**

"She's coming around," a voice said into the darkness. "Ella? Can you hear me? Ella? Open your eyes."

_Who was coming around? It couldn't be her. She was not Ella, and she was not waking up. After all, if she was awake she would be hurting; that single fact she knew as truth._

Wait, she was starting to hurt. It began as pins and needles poking and prodding, and quickly crescendoed into knives stabbing into her at regular intervals.

"Ella, I need you to open your eyes." The voice was insistent. She still wondered who Ella was. She felt her hand twitch uncontrollably, sending a wave of agony through her. A whispered groan escaped.

"Ella! Come on, love, just open your eyes. I know you're in there!"

She hoped that this Ella could hear the voice. It sounded as though it cared. She opened her eyes to see where she was. Rather, she tried to open her eyes, and managed to get one lid to lift slightly. The other seemed to be stuck somehow. There was a dim light off to the side, and she traced what detail she could of the room. It was unfamiliar to her. The voice sounded again to her right, and her eye followed it to find the face of a stranger. It was a woman, beaming at her in happy relief.

"Ella? Can you hear me?" the woman asked.

She licked parched lips, and a chip of ice was placed between them. The rush of coolness seemed to free mind and her tongue.

"Who's Ella?" she whispered.

The woman smoothed a hand over her hair. "Don't worry about that right now. I'm just glad you've woken up. How do you feel?"

"Hurts."

"I'm sure it does."

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital. Do you know how you got hurt?"

The girl's eye darted from side to side, clearly searching for someone. The woman stroked a hand down her arm.

"Hush now, don't fret. He's not here, and he'll never hurt you again. Hush now."

The girl's eye opened slightly larger in fear. "I didn't tell! I didn't tell!" she whispered urgently.

The woman shook her head. "No, you didn't tell. Don't fear, you're safe now. Here comes the doctor with something for the pain. Drink it all down like a good girl, and we'll talk later."

A different woman raised her head and shoulders gently and placed a phial to her lips. The liquid was bitter and burned as it went down.

The first woman placed her hand back on her brow. "Sleep now. It will be better in the morning."

XXX

Snape pulled the Jag into the parking lot in front of Sulis Minerva Hospital at three o'clock in the afternoon. He regretfully turned the ignition off and sat for a brief moment, wishing he could drive away and hide the car forever. Unfortunately, Shelly would kill him if he did. He ran a hand over the steering wheel one last time and slid out of the car. He grabbed his bags and walked away without a backwards glance.

Shelly ran out of the doors to meet him. "Severus, she woke up! It was only for a moment, but she regained consciousness. Doctor Arres says she is now truly out of danger."

Snape closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Ella was going to be fine. He tossed the keys to Shelly with a smile and headed straight to Ella's room. He paused outside of her door to catch his breath, and then entered quietly. He figured he had at least four hours before the Dark Lord called him. Hopefully by then he would be prepared.

Ella was sleeping as she had been every time he had been there. Now, though, her sleep seemed to be more natural, a true sleep rather than comatose stillness. He sat by her bed and took her undamaged hand.

"Ella," he said quietly, "it's finished. You never again have to return to the life you were living. I'll have to tell you about your funeral sometime when you are awake; I think you would have enjoyed it. Your teacher seems like a nice lady. Nothing at all like her know-it-all niece. You'll have to watch out for her at Hogwarts—the niece, not your teacher; she has an uncanny ability to put pieces together into disconcerting wholes. Watch out for those friends of hers too, though big sixth years shouldn't have much to do with a little first year." He gently lifted one lock of Ella's hair and ran it through his fingers. "I do wish your hair was some other color. Not that it looks bad on you, mind, but I've always had trouble with redheaded children. Take care you don't get mixed up with a family called Weasley, though they might seem kindred spirits with all that red hair; they always manage to be dead in the center of all manner of trouble.

"Ella, I hate to do this, but I have to go away again tonight. I truly hope that nothing will happen, but I don't know if I can make any promises about my chances of survival. No matter what, though, you will be safe. I've taken care of that.

"I have some letters I have to write, but I'll just be over at the table. If you need me, call, or do something. I'll be watching over you. That's my job now, and I mean to do it right." Snape laid Ella's hand down on the cover and placed his fingers on her cheek. Ella turned her head towards his touch and he stayed for just a moment. Sadly, he stood and went to the table. Hopefully these letters need never be read, but he could not take the chance of not writing them. The minutes ticked by as he completed page after page, sealing them with candle wax. He placed the letters by Ella's bed and went in search of Sean.

XXX

Snape found him on the lower level, and was persuaded to join him for dinner. He found himself unable to tell Sean of the danger he was going to face that evening; Sean saved him the trouble.

"I've heard some dark rumors from the shadows," he said quietly. "Rumors about your loyalty and your past actions. I would be very wary in answering any summons you might receive."

Snape closed his eyes in defeat. It was what he had feared. If Sean was hearing about it, then it was more than rumors.

"I'm in a bind, old friend. If I go, I walk into a trap. If I flee, I will be hunted down and killed. I fear the old meddler is going to lose an informant," he said flatly.

Sean looked Snape in the eye. "I don't care about the information," he declared, "I care about losing my friend. If you know about a trap before you walk into it, you stand a chance of springing free when it snaps closed. My shadows will keep us in information. It isn't as fast or as detailed as someone standing in the presence of the planners, but it will keep us going."

Sean hadn't taken the Dark Mark when he graduated from Hogwarts because he had planned to go into Mediwizard School. Not that he would have, mind you, or his father would have had his head for stupidity. However, no one but Snape knew that little fact. When the Dark Lord had fallen during Sean's first year of med school, he'd thought he was safe.

When the Dark Lord had returned, Sean was still able to use his position as a mediwizard to avoid the mark. After all, when one must roll up one's sleeve on a daily basis, one cannot carry the Dark Mark on one's arm. Sean maintained that it was only his profession that restrained him, and so there had been several who were willing to tell him secret plans and missions, so that he would not be left out. The Shadows, as Sean called them, would pass on little tidbits of information that Sean in turn would pass on to a connection he knew in the Order of the Phoenix. The system worked well enough, except in situations of urgency. There would be a hole if Severus could no longer infiltrate into the ranks of Death Eaters. There was nothing that could be done about that.

Snape suddenly hissed as his mark flared to life, sending bolts of pain shooting through his fingertips. Sean met his eye again with wordless understanding.

"If I don't return by morning, check with Hogwarts. There are two sets of letters by Ella's bed. One is if I am injured and unable to come here for a time. The other is if I am missing or dead." Snape rose from the table, unable to say more.

Sean placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take care. Return to us," he said quietly. Snape nodded and left the hospital. He transfigured his clothes into his Death Eater robes and mask, unwilling to take the time to go to Hogwarts for them. Before he Disapparated, his eyes searched out Ella's window. They lingered for a moment, and then he bowed his head and disappeared with a crack.


	17. Bad Night Out

**17. Bad Night Out **

Snape appeared in a forest clearing. The trees were old and huge, the ground thick with fallen leaves and decaying plants. Although the night was still hot and humid, a cold chill raced down his spine and the sweat almost seemed to freeze on his skin. This was no re-initiation ceremony; the Dark Lord was seated on a raised platform in the center of the clearing. There was a bonfire roaring off to the side, and five unmasked Death Eaters waited on the side opposite the bonfire. Those present were the Dark Lord's executioners, Death Eaters so fond of torture and killing that they would willingly murder their own families if he asked it of them.

Snape walked slowly forward and knelt at the feet of his former master, bending down until his face rested in the dirt and waiting for the Dark Lord to speak. His heart seemed to slow until each breath lasted an eternity.

This was death, and he was not afraid. All he had left was regret, the futile wish that he could just change the past.

"Severus," the Dark Lord's voice hissed out quietly. "Severus, take off your mask, my child, and let me see your face."

Snape raised himself from the dirt to his knees and took off the silvery mask. He allowed it to fall to the ground but did not look up.

"Raise your face, Severus, and see into my eyes."

Snape looked up, and the Dark Lord's mind slammed into his own, battering the mental walls that his Occlumency had raised. Snape instinctively allowed the Dark Lord to see snippets of his activities over the last few days. His spying on Ella's house, the dead simulacrum, the funeral, all flashed before his eyes again. The battering continued, as the Dark Lord attempted to break his defenses, to gain proof from Snape's own memories of his treachery. Snape held firm, making his mind's walls slippery, so that the Dark Lord would slide from one memory to another, under Snape's control.

The attack lasted for ten minutes, while silence reigned over the clearing. Finally, the Dark Lord pulled away.

_Does he know? Did it work? For Ella's sake, let it have worked._

"Severus, what have you to hide from me, that you do not let me into your mind? You fill me with doubt of your loyalty. Why, Severus?"

Snape lowered his eyes to the ground again and did not answer. The very question could be a trap, a trick to get him to admit to Occlumency. There was nothing he could say that would save him, and anything he might say would endanger others. Although he could not see the Dark Lord, he heard him sit back in his throne with a sigh.

"You leave me no choice, Severus. I would have made you my Lieutenant, my left hand. Why would you choose defeat and death over me?" There was a pause as Voldemort waited for Snape's answer, which never came. He heard a whisper of a sound as Voldemort pulled his wand from his robes. Snape refused to look up, to ask for mercy. The seconds seemed to stretch on for hours before Voldemort whispered, "_Crucio_."

The curse slammed into him, but Snape refused to cry out. He would not break this final time. He would hold as long as he was able, as long as he could control his own body. One minute passed, then two. The waves of agony washed over him again and again, stabbing deeper and longer. His entire body shook with the effort of holding back. His vision turned black at the edges and grew narrow. He lost track of his counting at three minutes. A rushing sound filled his ears, and he lost his grasp on consciousness. Snape's body fell to the ground, thrashing wildly as screams ripped from his throat. The Dark Lord continued the curse, his burning eyes filling with satisfaction as the body convulsed before him.

When the pain ended, Snape came back to himself slowly. He could feel his muscles cramping and twitching uncontrollably, and he could not raise his head. Booted feet entered his blurry vision, and a hand pulled his head up by the hair. Everything appeared hazy and out of focus. An arm wrapped around his throat, pulling him fully to his knees, and the person behind him knelt across his lower legs, pinning him to the ground. The hand never released the hold on his hair.

Suddenly, other hands grabbed his left arm, pulled it straight out and held it immobilized. He could see his hand hanging out in the air before him. One executioner held his wand to the back of his hand and spoke a single spell. Agony ripped through him as every bone in his hand simultaneously shattered, sending splinters of bone through his skin. When his right arm was grabbed for a repeat of the process, Snape pulled away as best he could, though he could not go far. He was left with a roaring in his ears and a black haze around every object.

Dimly, he heard Voldemort call for his robes to be sliced off, and he felt the tugging as the back of his robes were torn away; his arms and legs were seized, and he was pulled flat to his stomach. He was brought back to complete awareness when a searing pain erupted from his back. There was the smell of burning flesh, and a pain deeper than any he had ever endured stabbed into him. The booted feet left, walked to the fire then returned. From the corner of his eye, Snape could see the tip of an iron poker, glowing white hot in the darkness. He braced himself, but the pain was worse then he could have dreamed. Screams as from a dying animal were ripped from his throat until he coughed up blood. The third time was worse again, for the boot lifted his chin from the dirt so he could clearly see the iron. The boot left his chin, allowing it to fall to back to the ground, and then came the pain that was past enduring, for there was no strength left in him to prepare for it, or block it away.

"Now burn out his eyes so his last sight is of his master," Voldemort hissed nearby. "Cut out his tongue, and then slit his throat, so that he may drown in his lies then leave him at the gates of Hogwarts so that the old fool finds him in the morning." Cruel fingers lifted his head from the ground until Snape could see the Dark Lord's red eyes close at hand.

"Do you have any last words to say to me, Severus?" he asked.

Snape's throat worked for a moment, as he fought to regain control of his voice.

"I have paid my price for serving you, every day for the last eighteen years," he gasped out slowly and painfully. "The last words I have for you are, 'Go to hell.'"

With a roar of rage, Voldemort picked him up by the throat and threw him across the clearing. He hit a tree and felt something give way as he slid to the ground. As the executioners approached with glowing iron and wicked knife, Snape fought to bring his hand over to cover his Dark Mark. With one last gasp he cried "_Rhyddid!_"—and vanished.

XxX

A/N: I cannot take credit for all of the horrible things done to poor Snape in this chapter. Credit must go out to my two best friends, who helped turn a rather weak chapter that ended much too soon, with far too little inventiveness for pain from Lord V, into a brilliantly painful episode for Severus. It was all developed during our Christmas party this last year. Doesn't _that_ make you want to spend time with us?

In all seriousness, though, if you winced at all during the chapter, it was probably something that came about through their input. Thank you, Mac and Aren, for having imaginations that are far darker and more vivid than mine. I can only hope one day to be as talented for beating up my characters as you.


	18. Darkest Time Before the Dawn

**18. Darkest Time Before the Dawn**

The silence of the hospital ward at Hogwarts was shattered by the arrival of a broken man. He fell to the floor and cried out in agony as his back touched the stone floor. He tried in vain to turn to his side; he could not control his violently twitching muscles. His screams brought Madame Pomfrey running, dressed in her nightclothes and carrying a lantern.

"Severus!" she cried, pulling her wand. She shot a stream of silver light at the door and, as she knelt down turn Snape on his side, she called out, "Albus! I need you now!" She quickly scanned Snape with her wand, noting the many injuries he had sustained.

The flames in the fireplace turned a bright green, and after a short pause, Dumbledore stepped through, with Fawkes following closely after. He had a dressing gown over his nightshirt, but he, too, had obviously been pulled unaware from sleep.

Together, Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey levitated Snape from the floor to a bed. When they laid him down, he nearly threw himself from the mattress to the floor as his arms and legs thrashed uncontrollably. Madame Pomfrey spelled him into unconsciousness, but the violent jerking continued.

"Get the rest of his robes off, Albus, hurry!" Madame Pomfrey cried as she raced to a cabinet and grabbed a potion in a large bottle. "These are the side effects of the Cruciatus curse being held too long on a person. All his nerve endings are overtaxed, and if we do not bleed the energy off quickly, his muscles will literally tear themselves apart!"

Dumbledore was staring with horror at the ruins of Snape's hands.

"Those come next, Albus! Help me!" Madam Pomfrey commanded.

She poured a measure of the potion onto her hands and began to rub the thick substance into the skin of Snape's arms. Dumbledore also took the potion and began to work it into Snape's legs. As the potion warmed, it began to glow, and then the glow faded into the skin. The spasms slowed as Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore worked their way over the unconscious man.

When the spasms had faded to tremors, Madam Pomfrey gently took Snape's right hand and spelled the remaining fragments of bone from it, then wrapped the ruined flesh in a poultice. She immobilized his arm and repeated the process with his left hand.

"Will he be able to use his hands again, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"I hope so, Albus. I really don't know the best way to heal this. I'll call for a specialist in the morning—this is beyond my abilities."

"Poppy, do I smell burned skin?" Dumbledore inquired. Madam Pomfrey motioned for Dumbledore to magically lift Snape up and turn him. Branded into his back was the word SPY. The burns sank through the skin to the muscles beneath.

"I will not be able to prevent scarring, Albus," Madame Pomfrey told Dumbledore sadly. "This is too deep."

Dumbledore held Snape securely above the bed as Madame Pomfrey smoothed burn reducer over the brand. She ran her wand over Snape, to check for any other wounds, then gave a vicious oath.

"He has broken several vertebrae, and his landing on the floor, combined with the spasms, has worsened the damage. I can't heal these, Albus; the spinal cord is far too delicate for my usual spells. Even if I can get an orthopedic mediwizard here first thing tomorrow morning, Severus will have a very long convalescence."

Dumbledore had looked up in shock at the blistering oath, and the slightest twinkle had returned to his eye. It faded again as her words sank in.

"It doesn't matter how long it takes him to heal, so long as he does, Poppy. That is all I care about."

Madame Pomfrey scanned Snape one last time and then looked at Dumbledore in confusion. "Albus, there is glass embedded in both his arm and hand, but they are not new injuries. What on earth could they be?"

"When Severus returned to Voldemort as a spy eighteen years ago, I wanted him to have a way to escape should it all go wrong. The glass fragments you scanned are two halves of a Portkey, activated by bringing them close together and triggering them with a password. Should one have been found, the other would have transported him to the gates, but no further. Only with both halves could Severus have brought himself here, to the hospital."

"You could have warned me!" Madame Pomfrey snapped, "rather than giving me a heart attack tonight. I thought the castle wards had been breached, and we were under attack."

"Poppy, my intention was never to frighten you, but rather I hoped it would never be used. That Severus arrived here, tonight, in this condition, means Voldemort knows he was a spy. He will change all his plans now, and it will set us back months in the resistance. This was the worst possible outcome."

"Of course, Albus, it would have been much better had Severus died out there tonight, rather than escaping—then your precious Order wouldn't lose any time." Madam Pomfrey's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Dumbledore looked down at his hands and seemed to realize for the first time they were covered with Snape's blood. His eyes met Madam Pomfrey's.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. You misunderstood me. I am glad that Severus has lived, but I do not have the luxury to focus solely on him. There are others in my charge who are just as important as Severus, and their fates have been affected by tonight's events. We have suffered a loss, and there is no denying it." Dumbledore sat down heavily in a chair and scrubbed his hands with a towel.

Fawkes left his perch at the head of Snape's bed and flew to Dumbledore's shoulder. He rubbed a comforting head against Dumbledore's cheek, then returned to his watch over Snape. He crooned softly, seeming to quiet the last tremors in Snape's frame. Dumbledore stood quietly over Snape for a moment, then faced Madam Pomfrey once more.

"I must go and inform the Order that Severus will have a new role in this war. His days as a spy are done. Let me know as soon as he wakes." He left the hospital wing quickly without a backwards glance.

Madame Pomfrey took down two containers and poured another potion into each of them. She then placed Snape's hands into the containers. The potion would heal the wounds to the skin and nerves and would eventually allow new bones to grow without damage. She lifted Snape's head and gently gave him a dose of calming potion and laid him down once more. She looked over at Fawkes.

"Will you watch over him while I clean up and change into more appropriate robes?"

The phoenix bobbed his head and continued his croon. Madam Pomfrey slowly cleaned the blood from the floor, the bed, and herself, before leaving to change into robes. When she returned, she joined the phoenix in his vigil over the sleeping Potions Master.

XxX

A/N: I couldn't leave you for a week with the cliffhanger from the last chapter. I hate it when authors do that! I've tried to make Dumbledore into a general who understands "acceptable losses," rather than a heartless bastard. Personally, I think Dumbledore will, in the end, sacrifice anyone and anything that will lead to the final downfall of Voldemort. At least, that is the impression that book 5 left me with. We'll see in a month what book 6 does to my impressions.


	19. At Least You have Your Health

**19. At least you have your health**

Sean was asleep in Ella's room, his head pillowed on his arms as he slumped at the table. He sat up with a gasp when a hand took his shoulder.

"Severus?" he asked quickly.

Shelly laid a finger over her lips and whispered, "No, Sean, he's not come back."

"What time is it?"

"It's just after dawn. Madame Pomfrey called over the Floo from Hogwarts. She needs an orthopedic specialist, and Doctor Arres wants you to go. I'll stay here with Ella."

Sean ran a hand through his hair and stood. He shook the wrinkles from his robes, kissed Shelly good-bye, and walked out of the hospital. In the pale light of dawn he scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to wake up enough to Apparate. He opened his eyes again and saw a figure approaching: an unremarkable man Sean had met only once or twice before. His lack of memorable characteristics made most people forget him, or discount him, and no one would ever expect him to be a Death Eater.

He was, however, one of the many lower level followers of Voldemort who knew little and did less. He was an occasional Shadow, passing along bits of information, although Sean was not certain why he did.

"Doctor Murray, you're out early," the man said.

"I might say the same for you, Mr. Armstrong," Sean replied.

"Are you on your way somewhere, or could I buy you a cup or tea or coffee?" Armstrong asked. "The café down the street serves both."

"Coffee would be nice," Sean said. "I'm on my way to a house call, but I could spare a few minutes."

They walked down a block to the café, and Armstrong ordered two espressos from the waiter. The small cups were brought to the table, and Armstrong blew across the top of his and took a sip. His face twisted at the taste.

"I hate this stuff, but it packs a stronger punch than anything else when you need to wake up."

Sean quirked an eyebrow, added cream and sugar to his own cup, and sipped.

"You get quite used to it when you live on the stuff for a couple years. What can I do for you this morning?"

Armstrong considered Sean over the lip of his cup, his eyes calculating.

"There was a bit of an uproar last night," he said finally. "Severus Snape was exposed as a spy and was supposed to answer to the Dark Lord. Somehow, he vanished, and now there is a price on his head—two hundred galleons for the person to bring him in alive and unharmed. If he is damaged in any way, which would delay the Dark Lord's satisfaction, the prize is merely fifty Galleons. If he's killed, the person collecting the bounty would get only five. The Dark Lord wants Snape's head on a platter, but he wants to remove it himself.

"No one knows for sure where Snape is, but the best guess is Hogwarts. So long as Dumbledore has power there, Snape would be safe. If he leaves the gates, though, he is fair game."

Sean's face was dispassionate as he considered the news; this was not the time to ponder his friend's fate. There were a myriad of reasons Armstrong was sharing this information with him, though the last bit narrowed it down. Armstrong was a true informant, either a full-out spy or one who was content to play both sides. He must have reported to Snape, and now he was looking for a new contact. If Sean could be trusted, his "slip" of the tongue would not be reported to the Dark Lord. If it was reported, Armstrong would have the defense that he had not spoken too far out of turn. It was a well-known fact that Dumbledore was the only person the Dark Lord truly feared; he just did not like to be reminded of it.

Sean tossed back the rest of the bitter coffee and stood. "I'm sorry I have to run out on you like this," he apologized, "but I do need to get to my patient." He paused for a moment then continued. "Thank you for the drink and the information. It is always good to know the political situation at hand." He nodded and left.

XxX

Sean appeared outside the gates of Hogwarts and looked up at the castle. He had not stepped foot on the grounds of the school since the day of Shelly's graduation. There was a comfort in the fact that things had not changed. He walked to the front entrance, unsure if he should knock or just walk inside, but before he could decide, the doors opened and Albus Dumbledore stood in the entryway. _Yet another thing that hasn't changed in twenty years, _Sean thought ruefully.

"Sean Murray, what a pleasant surprise! Are you the mediwizard that's been sent to us then?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle.

"Yes, sir," Sean relied evenly. "Shall I go up to the hospital wing?"

"Of course, dear boy, and you must tell me all about your lovely wife as we go."

Dumbledore led Sean through familiar corridors to the hospital wing. Sean answered his questions about work, his wife, the trip they'd taken that summer, marveling all the while at the ability of the headmaster to ask leading questions without seeming to. He was fairly certain that by the time they walked through the doors of the hospital ward, Dumbledore could have accurately predicted his response to any number of situations. He was glad that his old friend had someone who could protect him so well.

Madame Pomfrey was waiting for them at the door of the hospital ward.

"Thank you for coming," she said to Sean, extending a hand.

"Certainly," he replied. "What is the problem?"

Madame Pomfrey shot a look at Dumbledore, who nodded. She gestured for Sean to enter the ward and led him to a bed in the corner that was screened off.

"Professor Snape was injured last night. Some of his injuries are beyond my scope of experience." She pulled back the screen to reveal the potions master, still unconscious.

Sean hurried to Snape's side and pulled his wand. "What treatments have you used so far?" he asked.

"He was exhibiting signs of neuromuscular breakdown from the Cruciatus curse, so I used the Incolumis Forma potion topically, along with a general calming potion to slow his heart and help him to sleep. His back was burned—branded, actually—so I used the ointment house elves use for severe kitchen burns. What I need help with, though, is his spine and his hands."

"What happened?"

"There are three vertebrae broken in his spine, and several others which are bruised. My best guess it that he was slammed into a tree, or pole, or other solid object. I've immobilized him for now, but I don't have enough practice with the delicate bone spells needed to knit them together. As for his hands…" Madame Pomfrey lifted one of Snape's hands from its shallow basin and slowly unwrapped the poultice. Sean hissed as the mangled flesh came into view.

"They used some sort of shattering spell on the bones of both of his hands. All of the bones through the wrists were shattered, even pulverized. The pain must have been unimaginable; when he arrived, his hands looked like badly-made pin cushions. I spelled out what splinters I could, but I did not just want to dose him with Skele-Grow without someone looking at his hands first."

Sean looked at Madame Pomfrey with respect. Many mediwizards would be unwilling to admit shortcomings, at times to the detriment of their patients.

"Madame Pomfrey, thank you for calling for help. You were right to wait with the Skele-Grow; if there are even the smallest fragments of bone left, his hands would end up crippled. You have not only saved Professor Snape's life, you've saved his livelihood. With your permission, I would like to begin the treatments he needs."

Madame Pomfrey nodded her assent, and Sean sat on the stool by Snape's bed. Working slowly and carefully, he fused the broken bones in Snape's spine, holding them securely so that the spells to knit broken bones back together could work safely. Sliding down to Snape's hands, he cast several spells to ensure there were no fragments, chips, or slivers of bones left. Madame Pomfrey had done a respectable job the night before, but he still found plenty. Most were smaller than a grain of sand, so he did not blame the nurse for missing them. Once the hands were free of every bit of bone, he painstakingly repaired the nerves, muscles, and blood vessels that had been lacerated by the splintered bones. When he finished, Snape had two perfectly formed hands, disregarding the missing bones. Several hours had passed in near-silence, with only the low voiced spells Sean used interrupting the quiet.

He sat back on his stool with a sigh and stretched slowly, his neck, arms, and back popping randomly as he moved. He was stiff from sitting in one place for so long, but it would soon fade. A teacup suddenly appeared before his nose, held by Dumbledore. Sean took it and sipped appreciatively. A plate of sandwiches appeared next, and quickly disappeared as Sean ate hungrily.

"How long will his recovery be?" Dumbledore asked quietly. Madame Pomfrey came around the screen at the question.

"Two to three weeks, I'd say," Sean answered. "All things being equal, he should wake up tonight or tomorrow morning. He is safe to move, though he'll be weak for several days. We can dose him with Skele-Grow now, and his hands will be fine in a day or two, but the bones in his spine will take longer. He'll be more stiff-necked than usual for a week, literally. The bones will remain fused until they've healed enough, but he'll be sore for a while. I'd keep him here in the hospital for three or four days, then let him go, so long as he takes it easy. Oh." He held up a small glass marble. "I'm sure Severus had this in his hand for a reason, but I had to take it out. He can have it put back in once the bones are solid and working correctly." He handed the marble to Madame Pomfrey, who placed it in a glass sitting on the bedside table.

"Thank you, Doctor Murray," Dumbledore said, holding out a hand to shake. Sean took it, and then shook hands with Madame Pomfrey as well. As they left the hospital wing and headed back through the corridors, Sean turned to Dumbledore.

"There is one more thing, sir," he said.

"What is it?"

"Severus has a price on his head for escaping last night. If he leaves the protection of Hogwarts, he will likely be taken. You have to find a way to keep him here; it is the only safe place."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I had rather guessed that would be the case. He will not be happy with the restrictions, but I will impress on him the importance of compliance. Thank you for telling me, and thank you again for your assistance."

They had reached the main doors, and Sean paused on the steps to look around the grounds. "It is a beautiful place, but it will be a prison for him nonetheless. I could almost feel sorry for the students who cross him this year." He shot a sideways glance at Dumbledore. "Almost."

Dumbledore chuckled and clapped Sean on the back. Sean gave him a smirk and walked away through the summer sun.


	20. The Day Before Tomorrow

****

20. The Day before Tomorrow

Shelly found Sean sitting out in a walled courtyard of the hospital. He was sitting against one of the walls, down on the grass, his head on his knees. As she walked up to him, she could see he was shaking slightly.

Shelly knew this reaction. Whenever Sean had a patient he was emotionally connected to, or one who was severely hurt, he had to shut down emotionally to deal with the problem. Once it was dealt with, though, he would have a reaction to the injury, the pain, and his own shutdown. It was for this reason that he had been cautioned against working at Saint Mungo's, or any other hospital where he would be forced to deal with nasty injuries on an emergency basis where he would not be able to prepare himself for them; he would have burned out very quickly. Shelly sat down next to him and did not say a thing.

After a few minutes, Sean leaned slightly against her, signaling the next step in his reaction; he was ready to talk.

"Was it Severus?"

"Yes."

"Was it bad?"

"You really don't want to know how bad it was."

He was talking, but obviously the combined trauma of the injuries and that they were on the person of his oldest friend was making the reaction worse than usual.

"Will he be alright?"

"Eventually."

Shelly wrapped an arm around Sean's back and pulled him closer to her. His head fell against her shoulder, and they sat in silence for a time.

It was Sean who broke the silence.

"How is Ella?"

"She should wake up in a little while. Would you like to be there with me when she does? She should be ready for some explanations this time."

Sean shook his head. "I'm not ready to be optimistic. I'll leave that for you right now. I'll have Doctor Arres come in to explain her injuries and what they mean, though."

Shelly kissed the top of Sean's head. "All right, I'll let you off godfather duties today, so long as you go and get some sleep. It's been a long few days for you."

"I'll see you later, then. Thank you, love."

Shelly smiled and left Sean in the courtyard to return to Ella's room. She had found the letters Snape had left behind last night but had avoided opening them, as a luck charm against his return. Now she opened the letter addressed to Sean and herself.

__

Dear Sean and Shelly,

If you are reading this, I am injured or dead, unless of course, Shelly went snooping again.

"Hey, I resemble that comment!" Shelly grumbled.

__

The Dark Lord has called, and I must answer, though I fear he has discovered me, and I answer only to go to my death.

First, I must thank you both for agreeing to be Ella's godparents. I know that I leave her in good hands.

There are two letters addressed to Ella. Please give her the first if I am injured, the second if I am dead. Both letters explain things she must know, but they do so in different ways.

I leave it to the two of you to tell Ella about magic and Hogwarts. If she asks, tell her about her rescue and her "death." Just a reminder—a dead person shouldn't be seen around the town of Bath. I'm sure you would remember, but I thought I would mention it.

Thank you, my friends, for all you have done for me and for Ella. Many times you have reminded me that there is more to life than death, and you have been an anchor of light and sanity when all else around me was darkness and chaos.

Take care my friends. Teach Ella to laugh and smile, as only you can.

Sean- you have been closer than a brother to me, and I will never forget what you have done for me and how much I truly owe you. No matter what you say.

Shelly- I have always loved you, ever since you were a crazy first-year Gryffindor with a crush on a second-year Slytherin.

I am glad that the two of you never allowed life to pull you apart.

With all my affection,

Severus Davigan Snape

Shelly allowed the tears welling in her eyes to slide down her cheeks for only a moment, then she took a deep breath and dashed the tears away. Severus was only injured, not dead—she would have many more years to tease him—but the depth of emotion he had shown in his letter showed a vulnerability he had hidden away for years.

So what if he couldn't leave Hogwarts? Voldemort would be defeated soon; he had to be. She and Sean would just have to go to Hogwarts to visit, that was all. So, on to other things, namely Ella. How best to tell her the truth?

Who was she kidding? Shelly was a Gryffindor. There was only one way.


	21. Through the Looking Glass

****

21. Through the Looking Glass

The second time she woke there was no elephant on her chest. Now it was just a cat, or a small dog, or a really large hamster.

The buzzing was gone, as well. She could hear clearly, though what she heard still made no sense.

She tried opening her eyes. One was still stuck closed, but the other opened a bit better. Remembering the pain from her last attempt at moving, she stayed as still as she could, moving only the eye that was open. The room was the same, that unfamiliar paper giving way to a crown molding she had only seen in the manor house, though this was no room in the manor house. She licked her lips and tried to speak.

"Where…?" Her voice trailed off.

The woman who had stood over her appeared again.

"Good afternoon, Ella. How are you feeling today?"

"I don't know," she replied uncertainly. "Who is Ella?"

The woman smiled. "Silly me, we haven't really met, have we? Elizabeth Dafydd, I am Shelly Murray, your godmother."

"I'm not Elizabeth Dafydd."

"Actually, you are. That's part of the long explanation I owe you. Would you like to listen to the tale in here, or outside? It's a lovely day."

"Is it all right if we go outside?"

Shelly smiled. "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't. Let me just get a chair."

She watched as Shelly left the room for a short time and then returned with a wheeled chair. She was transferred carefully, but even then she almost blacked out from the pain.

But in relatively short order, they were headed down the hall and out the door to a lovely walled garden, with roses climbing up trellises and a miniature waterfall bubbling over stones to a small pond.

She sat with her face turned to the sunlight for a time, breathing in the fresh air. Shelly made a small sound, and she turned to face the woman claiming to be her godmother.

"Would you please explain what is going on?" she asked. "Why are you calling me by a name that is not my own? What happened to me? Where are we? And who exactly are you?"

Shelly smiled ruefully. "Would you like the long version, or the short version?"

She thought for a moment then looked up. "The short version, please."

"It was brought to the attention of interested parties that you were in a dire situation, so you were removed, placed under the guardianship of your uncle, and given a new name and a set of godparents."

She closed her eyes in utter confusion. "Could I have the slightly longer version, please? I think I missed a few steps there."

Shelly burst into laughter. "Don't worry, you did. The slightly longer version, then. Sunday night your uncle was sent to your parents' house to check on you."

"Why?"

"He is a professor at an exclusive boarding school, and they were wondering why you had failed to respond to your letter of admittance."

"So, what happened?"

"Well, do you remember what happened Sunday night?"

"Of course."

"Your uncle is sometimes a sneaky person. He spied on your family that night and witnessed what happened. He went and got me and my husband—your godfather—and we took you out of there the next morning. We brought you to the hospital here, where you were treated for your injuries, and we arranged with the Ministry for you to be officially, legally removed from your parents' home. When your uncle took guardianship of you, he chose to give you a new name, so you could have a fresh start."

"And my name is?"

"Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd. Ella Dafydd."

She turned the name over in her mind. "Ella Dafydd. And I'm supposed to use that nickname? I've never been allowed before."

"Yes. No one will call you Elizabeth again, except in situations where your legal name has to be read out. Otherwise, you are Ella. Do you like it?"

"Ella. Ella Dafydd. I think it's pretty. Do you?"

"Of course I do, Ella." Shelly laid a gentle hand on Ella's shoulder.

"And what should I call you? What do you prefer? Mrs. Murray?"

Shelly made a face. "No, I would actually prefer you to call me Shelly. As your godmother, I'm hoping to be a friend to you."

"What is to become of me, Shelly?" Ella asked quietly.

"I should think that would be obvious. You will attend school where your uncle teaches during the year and spend the summers with him or us. When you graduate, you can decide if you want to go to university, or take an apprenticeship, or enter the working world. You have seven years to figure that out, though, so I wouldn't worry too much about it now."

"What is this school like, Shelly? And why would an exclusive boarding school want me?"

Shelly gave Ella a crooked smile. "Hogwarts wants you because you're special, Ella. They teach children with special abilities."

"What, like writing or music?"

Shelly laughed outright. "Something like that. Hogwarts is a school for magic, Ella. Its full name is Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"For what and _what_?"

"Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ella, you are a witch."

"A what?"

"A witch. You're a witch, I'm a witch, the nurse carrying the tray over here is a witch, and so are your uncle and my husband Sean. Well, no, they're not witches, they're wizards—they're boys, you know."

"Shelly, magic isn't real. It can't be real."

"It is Ella, as real as you and me. And you have the ability to do magic, with a wand and everything."

"No Shelly, it can't. Magic can't be real."

"It is." Shelly tilted her head to the side, wondering why Ella was getting so upset.

"No! If magic was real, it would have worked. It would have done something! Shelly, I wished on every star, opened every bottle, helped every eccentric old person I saw. All I ever wanted was for magic to take me away, and it never did. Magic is supposed to save you from things like this!" Ella gestured to her broken body, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Shelly took Ella's hand in her own. "Ella, I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have been there with wand blazing, doing everything I could. So would have Sean. And your uncle did get you out, and he used every magic spell and trick he could. We just didn't know. Magic isn't perfect; it can't solve everything. It's a tool. A rather handy and flashy one, but a tool just the same. Yes, there are crystal balls and magic mirrors, but you have to know where to look. Magic doesn't make you all-knowing or all-powerful, or all-anything. And don't believe anyone who tells you it can."

A voice intruded on their conversation. "Are you upsetting my patient, Shelly? Shame on you—you should know better." A tall, willowy woman walked around the chair and used a handkerchief to dry Ella's tears.

Ella looked up at her. "Who are you?" she asked, the smallest trace of fear creeping into her voice.

"My name is Rebecca Arres. I'm the mediwitch who pieced you back together when you arrived Monday morning. I am glad to see you up and about, and I was wondering if you could stand to take a potion. It will help ease your pain." She held out a phial filled with a shimmering purple liquid. Ella cautiously took it from her, looked at it uncertainly and then downed it in one gulp.

"_Ghack!_" she choked out. "That's horrid!"

Doctor Arres took the empty phial and gave her a glass of water to rinse out the taste. Ella franticly sipped, gargled, and swished, trying to rid her tongue of the experience.

"Please tell me that is the only time I will have to take that disgusting stuff," she begged the mediwitch. Doctor Arres shook her head.

"Actually, you'll be taking it four times a day for the next month," she said apologetically. "I know the taste is bad, but it is the best potion for your situation. There are a few restrictions you need to know about, though."

"No operating heavy machinery, and don't mix with alcohol?" Ella quipped.

"Funny," Doctor Arres replied. "This potion will make you look and feel as though you're almost back to normal. This is dangerous for you, because your body hurts for a reason. Pain tells you when something is wrong and causes you to ease off of the injured part of your body. You'll have to be careful not to overdo, because you will not feel your normal limits.

"Also, you must be very careful to not physically injure yourself, or if you do, have it seen to immediately. You would not feel a life-threatening injury.

"Third, you cannot have any spells set on you when you go to school, until October. Your injuries are being treated by a very precise set of balanced spells. If you add any other magic to the mix, you could throw them out of balance, and trust me, you don't want to do that. Can you remember all those?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ella said quietly. She bit her lip and looked up. "Will you tell me what's wrong with me? I've never been this bad before in this many ways."

The mediwitch pulled a chair from against the wall and sat down facing Ella.

"It's quite a list. Would you like it from top to bottom, or from the inside out?"

"Whichever," Ella replied.

"Top to bottom it is, then. First your face: you cannot open your right eye because it is rather spectacularly black and blue. You had a broken nose and a tripod fracture of your cheek bone."

"A what?"

Doctor Arres laid a gentle finger just under Ella's left eye. "There are three bones that meet just here. If they are broken or separated, it is called a tripod fracture."

Her hand drifted down to Ella's shoulder. "You had a slight concussion, and of course there is the brand, here, and the welts and cuts from the whip on your back. We've tried to minimize scaring, but there wasn't a lot we could do. Moving down, you have several broken ribs, three of them broken in two places. One of the ribs punctured your lung, which is why you were having trouble breathing for a while. Your liver was also damaged, as was your spleen, and many of your internal organs were bruised in one way or another. Your hand has been put back together, and we rebuilt your knee. Both of them will take the full month to heal, and even then they will be weak for a time."

Ella looked down at her hand, lying on the arm of the chair, and her leg, stretched out in front of her.

"What's holding them together then? Why don't I have casts on?"

"You do, they're just the magical version of a cast." Doctor Arres reached down and tapped Ella's leg. There was a bandage that wrapped around her leg, the color of her skin, but when the mediwitch touched it, Ella realized it was stiff and hard.

"You have the same things on your hand and around your ribcage. They will soften as you heal, decreasing the support as you need it less. Eventually, they'll turn into soft cloth, and you will be able to take them off. Until then, you may shower or bathe in them and wear normal clothing over them, and no one will see the difference. Other than the cane you'll have to use to get around, you will appear no different from the other students at Hogwarts.

"I am sorry that it will take so long, and that you have to go to school like this, but it was the best we could do."

Ella looked up, shocked. "Sorry? You said I would be fine in a month. One month. I was expecting to be like this," she gestured to her bruised face and wheelchair, "'til Christmas at least. Don't be sorry, Doctor Arres; I'm incredibly grateful."

The mediwitch smiled. "That is one advantage to having grown up Muggle. You are much more patient than most of the people I see. I'll leave you two alone for now; I'll return later." She left Ella and Shelly in the garden and reentered the hospital.

Ella turned to Shelly. "What did she mean by Muggle?"

Shelly sighed as she thought about the best way to answer. "There are five kinds of people, as far as we in the wizarding world are concerned. First of all are people who are descended from an all-wizarding family, often called purebloods. Then there is the other end of the spectrum, the people who have no magic in their ancestry. They are the Muggles, or non-magic folk. Third, there are people who come from both worlds; a parent or grandparent from the wizarding world, and the other from the Muggle, that's what you are. Then there are the people who don't fit into the world they are born to: Muggle-born wizards and witches, who can do magic, and squibs—people who have parents who are witches and wizards, but who can't do magic themselves. For most of the people in our world, your bloodlines don't matter. However, there are some who would consider Muggles to be ignorant cattle, to be tormented or ignored, useful for only menial labor, and who consider Muggle-borns to be a contamination to the Wizarding world. Right now, there is a powerful wizard who has a following who wants to 'cleanse' the Wizarding world of all people with Muggle ancestry. Personally, I think that's idiotic, but then, I'm a Muggle-born myself, so what do I know? Don't let anyone tell you that a pureblood wizard is better than you simply by birth. There is no proof towards that, and plenty against it.

"Now, there is some business we need to take care of, if you feel up to it."

Ella looked quizzically at Shelly. "What do we need to do?"

"First of all, there is a letter here from your uncle. He's been delayed and will not be able to come back here before the start of the school year, and there were some things he wanted you to know." She handed Ella a folded parchment with her name on it, sealed with wax.

"Also, we need to figure out where we need to go to get your supplies for school, along with anything else you need—like an entirely new wardrobe. We left all of your clothes at your parents' house, so we'll have to go shopping once you can leave the hospital."

Ella shook her head. "Shelly, I'm so indebted to you already. I can just wear my school uniform; I don't need any other clothes. You don't have to spend that kind of money on me."

Shelly lifted an eyebrow as she looked at Ella. "Who said anything about _me_ buying your new wardrobe? You have plenty of money of your own that you can use to purchase anything you like."

"What do you mean, Shelly? I don't have any money."

Shelly grinned wickedly. "Are you familiar with legal concept of damages?"

"That's where a person has to pay money for doing something wrong, isn't it?"

"Exactly. Your father has paid you damages for a lifetime of abuse. You have enough money that you could live off of it for the rest of your life."

"What? What do you mean?"

"That is part of the long version of your rescue that I'll have to tell you about someday. Suffice it to say for now that you have money, and you can afford clothes."

A sound drew their attention up to the garden wall. Perched on the stones was a barn owl, and it hooted when it saw them look up. It dropped a parchment to the ground and made itself comfortable on the wall.

"What in the world is that?" Ella asked.

"Owl post. It's how we deliver letters in the wizarding world. You just hand your letter to an owl and tell it who to deliver it to. Owls can find anyone, anywhere. You don't need an address book." Shelly picked up the letter and turned it over.

"Oh, look, it's for you." She handed the thick envelope with green writing to Ella, who carefully opened the flap and took out the enclosed paper.

__

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster

(Order of Merlin, first class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Miss Dafydd,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no latter than August 25.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Ella looked up. "This isn't a joke?"

"No joke, Ella. Hogwarts is as real as you and me," Shelly assured her.

"Then I guess we had better send my owl, hadn't we?"

Ella watched as Shelly took out a quill pen and ink and wrote a short reply on the letter. She took out the two sheets of parchment Ella hadn't read, then slipped the letter back into the envelope. She tied it to the owl's leg, and told it, "Back to Hogwarts and Professor McGonagall with you." The owl bobbed its head and took flight.

xXx

Shelly turned back to Ella and did a double-take. "Wow, that potion is really something! Are you feeling better?"

Ella realized that the twinges of pain she had been feeling through the other pain potion, as well as the tightness around her face, had disappeared.

"I do feel better. I don't hurt anymore." She smiled at Shelly for the first time.

"Now you look like your picture. However, that could pose a problem for us."

"Why?"

Shelly gave her wicked grin again. "I guess I really need to go into the long version, don't I? I keep mentioning things you don't know about.

"The easiest way to rescue you Monday was to wait until your parents had left the house and then break in. We did, making it look like a robbery. I collected evidence against your parents, as to why you could no longer live with them. That's part of my job at the Ministry of Families and Children. When I was done, your uncle and I made the house look like a pair of bungling robbers had tossed the place. That was when we arranged for you to receive damages from your father and picked up a few souvenirs for you. Meanwhile, Sean was down with you, creating a simulacrum—a magical clone—of you. We left that behind when we took you, so when the police arrived to investigate the robbery, they found you in the basement, and your parents didn't get away with what they did to you. They are now facing charges for your death, and I'm told you had a lovely funeral."

Ella looked at her in utter shock. "You did what?"

"It was completely justified, Ella. The problem is, there is no way to guarantee that no wizard saw the news articles, or heard about the tragic death of Elizabeth Grey. Your school picture was plastered all over the telly for several days. What I need to know is, how attached are you to those braids?"

Ella ran a hand down one thick braid and looked at it for a moment. "I don't know, Shelly. I've always worn my hair in braids—that's how I had to wear it. I don't even know what it looks like down."

Shelly leaned forward in her chair. "Ella, you're going to find that a lot of things that you know to be always and never true aren't really. Just because you've _always_ had to wear your hair in braids, doesn't mean you have to now. Tomorrow when we leave the hospital, will you be willing to let me take you to a hair stylist I know and trust?"

Ella bit her lip, then nodded slowly.

Shelly stood and ran a hand over Ella's hair. "I'll leave you to enjoy the sun for a bit, then, and let you read your letter from your uncle. If you need anything, just call. Someone will hear you." She walked away, and Ella heard the door to the hospital open and close behind her.

Ella sat quietly, turning the letter over in her hands. Who was this mysterious uncle? The only uncles she knew of were on her father's side, and they wouldn't have done anything to help her. Her mother's family were all dead, as far as she knew—at least, that was what she had been told. Otherwise, why would her mother have been in an orphanage for her father's family to find and marry her into the family when she had turned thirteen?

She took a deep breath, broke the wax of the seal, and opened the letter.

Dear Ella,

I don't like that I have to tell you this in a letter, rather than face-to-face, but I must. If you are holding this letter in your hands, I have been delayed in my return to you, and I won't be able to truly meet you until you arrive at Hogwarts.

To begin, allow me to introduce myself. I am your uncle, your mother's half-brother to be exact, though I'm sure you've never heard of me. I was told by my stepfather to leave the house and never return when I was sixteen. I complied and have not tried to contact your mother since.

I tell you this because I want you to know that I am sorry. I'm sorry that I did not try to find her sooner. I'm sorry I didn't know about you. I'm sorry you had to suffer what you did for as long as you have. If I could, I would go back and change things so that I could spare you any pain.

I want to give you my word that from now on, I will be watching over you, and I will spare you every pain and sorrow that I possibly can. This world is full of things that are out of our control, but I am here now, and I will protect you.

Trust Sean and Shelly. They have been my true friends for many years, and until three days ago, they were the only family I had.

There is so much more I must tell you, about myself and our family, but that must wait until I can speak to you in person. Take care, heal quickly, and fare well.

Severus Davigan Snape, Uncle Sev

Ella carefully refolded the letter and sat thinking, unconsciously playing with the ring on her right ring finger. It took a few minutes for her to realize what she was playing with, and that realization was quickly followed by the knowledge that she had never seen the ring before. She had her hand up close to her face, inspecting the detail of the filigree, when Shelly returned.

"Isn't that lovely?" Shelly asked.

"Did you give it to me?" Ella turned to look at her godmother.

"No, it was from one of your relatives—a cousin, I think your uncle said. It was a naming day gift from her."

"Naming day? Is that like my birthday?"

Shelly laughed. "No, it's a different day. Most people don't celebrate it, although it's tradition for some that godparents give their gifts on their godchild's naming day, rather than his or her birthday. We'll have to decide which you would prefer. Not right now, though; it's past time for lunch, and if I don't get you inside, Doctor Arres will have my hide. Off we go." She took the handles at the back of the chair and wheeled Ella through the door and back to her room.

A/N: Thank you to those who have taken the time to reply and/or review. I hope this newest installment is to your liking. Cheers!


	22. Dawn Will Always Come

**22. Dawn Will Always Come**

Snape woke with a jerk. Literally. His arm jerked up into the air, sending a wave of pain through his entire body and sitting him straight up in bed with a gasp.

Madame Pomfrey hurried around the screen at the side of the bed. "Good, you're up. I was starting to get a little worried." She took his shoulders and eased him back down to the mattress. "How do you feel?"

"Ouch," Snape replied.

"Yes, I would imagine that's true. Do you feel up to talking with Albus?"

"I suppose," he admitted with a sigh.

Madame Pomfrey leaned around the screen and called for Dumbledore. He arrived quickly, a smile beaming from his face.

"My boy, I am so glad to see you awake. So glad." He laid a hand on Snape's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I can't let you go to him again, lad. This was the final time."

Snape grunted. "You've got to stop saying that, old man; one of these days I'm going to take you up on it, and then there would we be?"

Dumbledore sobered. "This time you must, Severus. Voldemort knows you for a spy and has placed a tempting price on your head for escaping from his clutches. Not only can you not answer the call of the Dark Mark any longer, I'm afraid I must also confine you to the grounds of Hogwarts, for your own safety."

Snape turned his head. "You know, when I don't feel so horrible, that's really going to piss me off." A spasm ran through him, followed by a grimace of pain.

Dumbledore turned to Madame Pomfrey. "Poppy, now that he's awake, what is the best way to stop these spasms?"

"They're the last of the effects from the Cruciatus. The best I can recommend is a hot bath, now that he won't drown in his sleep."

"Excuse me," Snape complained, "I'm laying right here."

Dumbledore turned to him with a twinkle in his eye. "So you are, my boy, so you are. Shall we get you up to your neck in hot water, then?"

Snape bit back a groan at the horrible pun. He knew that if he reacted to it, it would only encourage the headmaster. "Yes, please," he replied and placed a hand on the bed to push himself up.

Madame Pomfrey hit him with a Body Bind before he could begin to move. "Don't even think about moving yourself, Severus Snape! I just got you put back together again, and you aren't undoing hours of work. Now, you will either cooperate, or I will keep you under the Body Bind for the next two days. Which will it be?"

"He can't answer you, Poppy, You've got his mouth sealed shut," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. Madame Pomfrey huffed and released the hex.

"I'll obey, Poppy, but only today. I cannot lie here unmoving for days. There is too much to be done," Snape told her quietly.

"We'll see about that," she snapped back.

Dumbledore deftly levitated Snape onto a stretcher and floated it out the door to an empty bathing room. He filled the deep tub and conjured a set of straps to hold Snape's head above the surface, then lowered Snape into the water and made certain he was secured.

"Here's something to think about while you float, my boy," he said quietly over Snape's head. "You are finally free of Voldemort. You can no longer punish yourself for a boy's foolish decision. Your debt is paid."

"It'll never be paid, Albus. That's the problem," Snape said quietly. Dumbledore didn't answer; he simply left the bathing room, securing the door behind him.

Snape was left with his thoughts, and against his will, they traveled back in time eighteen years to the last time his life had been left in such upheaval.

DECEMBER 1976

Young Severus Snape, freshly graduated from Hogwarts, first year university student in the program of Potions Master, and initiate Death Eater was going to prove his quality that night. Far sooner than all of his classmates, he was being given the honor of participating in his first raid. Not just some random troublemaking, as he had been doing, but an actual Death Eater raid. He'd been assigned to Simon Lestrange and Dorian Graves, two of the highest-ranked Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's inner circle. It was rumored that these two men were charged with disciplining the Death Eaters themselves, as well as tracking down and punishing anyone who dared betray the Dark Lord. They had been called by the Dark Lord, and when Snape Apparated to the mansion where they met, he found he was alone with the Dark Lord himself and his two enforcers. He dropped to his knees and crawled forward. When he had kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robe, he was commanded to rise.

"My young initiate," the Dark Lord's voice curled through the air, "are you prepared to prove yourself tonight?"

"Oh yes, milord, I thank you for the honor you have given me. What is your command, milord?"

"You are to follow the directions of these two men; you are to guard their backs and be certain they are not followed or discovered."

"Yes, milord." Snape bowed low, holding it until he heard the other two men move to his sides.

"How do we serve you tonight, milord?" Graves asked quietly.

"You have found the traitor Ruton and his family," the Dark Lord stated. "When he turned from me and betrayed me to the Ministry, he caused the death of three of my followers without warning. Two others were sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss in Azkaban, and one sits forever in insanity, locked behind the walls of Azkaban. I want him punished appropriately."

"Yes, milord," the men replied in concert, then Snape was taken by the arms, and the three men Disapparated.

They reappeared on a quiet street in some part of England, unfamiliar to Snape, and they stepped beneath the shadow of a large tree to speak with low voices, their breath puffing out in icy fog.

"If you have questions tonight, Snape, try to keep them to a minimum. We'll answer if we can, but don't keep your hopes up," Lestrange told him.

"Just follow our lead, and watch our backs," was Graves' command.

They started up the walk to a house with no lights burning. Softly-voiced spells unlocked the door and silenced their movements through the house. They made their way to the attic and opened the window facing the house next door.

"Do you know how to detect wards without setting them off?" Lestrange asked. Snape nodded in reply. "Check that house then."

The residents of the house next door were still up. Through the windows, they could see glimpses of a woman checking on sleeping children, disappearing from view, and then appearing in the lower front room. Snape found wards over the doors and windows, as well as wards that would warn the residents if anyone Apparated into the house. He told Lestrange and Graves, who deactivated the wards over the windows and sent spy spells into the various rooms.

Lestrange turned to Snape, a strange light in his eyes. "Have you seen the reports in the paper, about Albus Dumbledore trying to get the Imperius curse classified as an Unforgivable?"

Snape nodded, uncertain of the direction of the question.

"Dorian Graves is one of the reasons behind the movement. Sit back and watch a true artist work."

Graves did not say anything to the men beside him in the attic. He aimed his wand into the window of the nearest bedroom, where a girl lay sleeping. His spoke one word.

"_Imperio_."

XxX

Henry Ruton was sitting in the living room, staring out the windows to a darkened street. He could hear his wife, Allys, moving upstairs as she settled the children. This was their third house in seven weeks, and already he felt unsafe. He rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to relieve the headache that had been pounding for the last two months. He knew he'd made the right decision to leave He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but he also knew he'd signed the death warrants for himself and his family when he walked through the door to the Ministry. Allys sat on the arm of his chair and laid her head against his.

"The children are finally asleep. They have been so unsettled by the moves. Please, Henry, tell me this is the last one. Tell me we're safe here."

"I can't promise you that Allys. I don't know that anywhere in England is safe for us now. I'm going to talk to our Ministry contact tomorrow about moving to Australia, or America. Maybe then we'll be far enough away."

Allys sat up in shock. "Australia? America? Well and fine for you, Henry, but what about the children? Are we going to uproot them and take them halfway around the world? What about Kevin, Robin, and Devin? They all have years left at Hogwarts. Will they lose that as well?"

Henry closed his eyes in pain. "Allys, I'm sorry. What else would you have me do? We can work out the details for the older children when the time comes. It's the only thing left for us—our only escape." He wrapped an arm around Allys and pulled her against him. There were no other words left to say.

There was a noise on the stairs behind them, and both Henry and Allys whirled, wands drawn. At the top of the stairs stood their oldest child still at home, her hair tumbling around her white nightgown, her eyes wide, and her face curiously blank.

Allys walked up to the stairs. "Evie, what are you doing out of bed, love? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I have a message for daddy." Her voice had no inflection at all, almost as though she was sleepwalking.

"Daddy's right here. What do you need to tell him, Evie?" The child's eyes lifted and fixed on Henry's.

"You can run but you can't hide."

Henry stood swiftly, pulling the curtains back to look for intruders in his yard.

"Allys, check the children," he said urgently.

Allys ran up the stairs but stopped a few steps from her daughter. The girl's hair was wet, and there were dark spots splattered all over her nightgown.

"Eve, did you get sick? What do you have on you?"

Now Allys was speared with the empty gaze. "I did it myself, Mummy."

"What did you do, Eve?" Allys felt a chill run through her.

"Come, see. I did it myself." The girl offered her hand to her mother and led her down the hall to the room where the three younger children had been sleeping. The door was open, and Allys dropped Eve's hand and hurried ahead.

"Did you open the door, Eve? The light will wake the baby."

"Look, Mummy, I did it myself." Still her voice was flat and her gaze empty.

Allys walked into the nursery and turned up the light on the lamp that sat by the door.

Her eyes widened in horror, and she stopped breathing at the sight that awaited her. All three children were dead, their throats slit. Blood had splashed everywhere—on the walls, the beds, the floor. The baby's head was turned to the door, his eyes open and glazed with death, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Breath rushed back into her lungs, and she began to scream. It was cut off when a knife slid into her kidney, causing her to fall to her knees. Eve walked around to face her mother as she slit her throat. The child stood expressionless as she was bathed in her mother's blood. Allys fell dead to the floor.

Henry ran up the stairs at his wife's scream and straight into the bloody knife. It entered his abdomen and tore sideways, causing his intestines to fall out onto the floor. He fell to his knees, trying to hold his internal organs inside his body, his shocked eyes searching those of his daughter's.

"You can run, but you can't hide," she whispered once more…

Suddenly, Eve's eyes focused and she started to tremble. Tears welled up and spilled over as she whispered, "Daddy?"

Henry placed one bloody hand on her head before he also fell to the floor, his blood pooling around Eve's feet.

The child turned around slowly, her eyes taking in one horror after another. Her breathing became shallower and shallower, until she began to scream without ceasing.

XxX

In the attic next door, Lestrange and Graves began to laugh, and Snape weakly followed suit.

"Now what?" he asked his two chuckling mentors.

"Now we away, until tomorrow night, when we report to our master. Well done, Graves. That little melodrama was the best entertainment I've had in weeks."

"But what of the Mark? Shall I cast the Dark Mark?" Snape asked.

Graves shook his head. "Ordinarily, we would, but this time, we simply leave. If we cast the Mark, then the world knows the little girl was used to punish her family. Without it, no one can prove it for certain, and she'll spend the rest of her life locked up in the high security wing of the asylum."

"And one is locked forever in insanity, behind the walls of Azkaban," Snape said under his breath, remembering the words of the Dark Lord. He nodded his head, and they left their posts, pausing once on the street to listen to the high, thin screams coming from the upper bedroom. No neighbors had woken yet, but it was only a matter of time.

The three men shook hands for a job well done, and then Disapparated their separate ways to enjoy their evenings.

Snape didn't Apparate far. He reappeared in the back yard and cast a spell on himself that he had used on his textbooks in the past, an appearance charm that made the charmed object appear safe and uninteresting.

He ran through the back door, the ward down now that Henry was dead, and raced up the stairs. The screams were dying down, and he followed them to the bedroom where he'd watched her sleep. He looked around quickly and saw that the door of the closet was open. He slowly walked over and crouched down. Eve was curled up behind the hanging clothes, holding a stuffed animal, whimpering.

Snape quietly called her name. "Eve? Come out, Eve, you're safe now." The girl huddled closer around her stuffed animal. "I'm here to help you Eve. I'm going to pick you up now—I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

He reached into the closet, hoping not to startle the girl. He scooped her up, grunting in surprise at her weight. Eve wasn't as young has she had appeared from a distance. She was likely nine years old or so, lightly built, but heavier than he'd assumed she'd be.

He held her close, trying to calm the tremors that raced through her frame. He knelt on the floor, holding her head against his shoulder, rubbing her back with his other hand. "I've got you now, Eve," he said quietly. "I've got you, and I won't let anything bad happen to you anymore. Shh, it will be okay, I promise." He didn't notice the blood that soaked through his shirt and stained his hands. His only thought was to reassure the child.

He stood and shifted her weight against his shoulder, holding her securely. Then he Apparated directly from her bedroom to Saint Mungos. He raced through the front door, calling for help. Mediwizards converged from all sides at the sight of the blood-soaked child in his arms. They took her and whisked her quickly away.

"I don't know who she is," he snapped at the nurse attempting to get information from him. "I was on my way home from work, and I saw her out on the sidewalk, looking like that. She didn't say anything, couldn't tell me her name, or where she lived, so I grabbed her and brought her here." He fended off all other questions, and gave a false name when asked for his identity. When the nurse turned around for another form, he slipped out the side door and Disapparated again.

This time he appeared in a pub frequented by Death Eaters his age and rank in the Dark Lord's service. He banished the blood from his hands and clothes before anyone noticed and pushed his way to the bar, where a seat was cleared for him. He stayed for an hour, establishing his alibi, fending off questions about the raid, offering drinks and toasts, and receiving them in return. When he begged off, claiming tiredness, there were catcalls and rude suggestions about where he might go to "rest his head," to which he rolled his eyes and sent back a rude gesture. He had one more place to go tonight, and it wasn't to the empty flat where he'd been living, or the brothel his "friends" were recommending.

The gates of Hogwarts loomed up before him, forbidding and closed in the darkness. He pushed one open and slowly made his way through the icy snow and up the front drive, unsure of what he would say when he found the headmaster. He hadn't fully composed his speech when the front doors were flung open, and Professor Dumbledore stood framed in the empty space.

"My boy," Dumbledore said, with no trace of the cheery old man, "what have you done?"

Snape lowered his head, unable to meet the headmaster's eyes. "I've made a terrible mistake, and I've done something horrible, sir. Please, I need your help."

Dumbledore didn't say a word; he just laid a hand on Snape's back and led him back into the halls of Hogwarts, past the gargoyle guarding his stairs, and into his office.

"And so I left her there at Saint Mungos, but if the truth doesn't get out there, she's going to be branded an insane murderer and locked away." Snape finished his confession and waited for Dumbledore's judgment, looking down at his hands. They were clean to the eye, but to his imagination, they were still covered in the blood of the innocents he had helped to kill that night.

"You say the Dark Mark wasn't cast above their house?"

"No, so when the bodies are found, the Dark Lord isn't blamed. The Death Eaters will know, but not the general public."

"Well, then, I'll call up a friend at the _Daily Prophet_, and you can tell your story and be a hero, Severus. I think you'll receive an Order of Merlin, at least second class," Dumbledore said, rising and going to the fire.

"No!" Snape said quickly. "Don't do that! If the paper has the story tomorrow, then the Dark Lord will know I told. I'll be killed. Please, sir, could you wait two days, just sit on the story 'til Friday, and then anyone could have leaked it to the press. You have to keep my name out of it."

"But Severus, you can't mean to go back."

"Headmaster, heroism is for Gryffindors, not for the likes of me. I'll serve you better if I go back and send you information."

Dumbledore caught Snape's gaze with his own and held it tightly. Suddenly, he felt another presence in his mind, sifting through his thoughts and convictions. He tried to push the other away but was unable to. After what seemed like ages, he was released, and he fell back into his chair.

"Very well, Severus, I'll send you back. But you must become a skilled Occulmence if you plan to walk into that cesspit with motives other than devotion. Off with you boy, and try not to meet Voldemort's eyes until you can guard your mind. The eyes are a window to more than the soul, you know. I'll send someone to be your contact."

Snape never knew exactly how Dumbledore did it, but when the story broke that Friday morning, the headlines called the murders an attack by Voldemort and listed Eve as one of the victims. One year later, the courts passed through the legislation, nicknamed Eve's Law, to make the Imperius Curse the third Unforgivable. Snape was not discovered as the leak to the story, and in fact, it was believed that the child had given a clear testimony before lapsing into a coma that lasted for several years.

Snape served as the potions brewer for the Dark Lord and was rarely asked to go on raids, his value seen more in the lab than on a raid. He passed information to the Order of the Phoenix, through Dumbledore, and danced the thin line of safety that was the life of a double agent.

Though all the years, with all the lives he saved, those he unknowingly killed with the poisons he developed, those he had to let die to protect his position as spy, none ever affected him as much as the haunted gaze of Eve Ruton. It was the debt he felt he owed to her that drove him to continue, to sacrifice his honor, his reputation, and now his freedom, because nothing he could do could begin to pay for the pain she had suffered.

PRESENT-DAY

Snape was startled from his half-conscious thoughts when a knock sounded at the door. Before he could call an answer, it opened, and Dumbledore walked into the bathroom.

"Have you turned into a prune yet, Severus?" he asked with a chuckle.

Snape lifted a hand from the water and was surprised to see how wrinkled the skin had become. He had not realized the passing of time.

"I suppose I have," he replied.

Dumbledore levitated him out of the water and helped him to dry and dress. He lay back on the stretcher for the trip to the hospital ward and the ever-watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey. When he was back in bed, Dumbledore pulled a chair up beside him and sat down.

"What deep thoughts were you considering so carefully, Severus?" he asked.

Snape sighed. "I was trying to recall the last time my life changed directions so completely. This may sound insipid, but right now, I feel almost as though I was waking up, after a long nightmare."

"I wouldn't call that insipid, Severus; I would call that very astute. You placed your life on hold when you went into service for me. I hope you can find your way though these dark days. I'll leave you to your dinner now, and we'll talk in the morning."

Dumbledore left as Madame Pomfrey came around the screen to lift Snape to a sitting position so that he could eat off the tray a house elf was carrying into the hospital ward.

A/N: First off, credit where due: Eve's appearance at the top of the stairs is partly inspired by the freaky twin girls from the movie_ The Shining _(you know, "Red Rum, Red Rum"). Of course, I've never seen _the Shining_, only the ten-second clip of the twins. I honestly hope that I freaked out at least one or two people, because I managed to majorly disturb myself when writing it. Let me know if I succeeded! This is my personal explanation as to why Snape would turn back from Voldemort.

Second, to respond to Loreleisealgirl's review: I'm very glad you've enjoyed the story so far, and I promise that they will eventually end up at Hogwarts for the school year. After this post there is just a bit more set up, mostly the equivalent of chapters 4 and 5 of SS, and one last update with Snape. I'm typing out the first week at Hogwarts now, and I hope to have part of it out before _The Half-Blood Prince_ comes out and makes everything I'm making up for HP's sixth year AU.

Last supreme thanks to my beta, Aren, and apologies again for my testiness when writing this chapter… it isn't easy to put myself in the mind frame to write nasty stuff.

BETA-READER'S NOTE (inserted with permission of the author, of course): No hard feelings about the testiness; the person I was talking with on the phone at the time accepted my explanation for the obscenities uttered in the background, and she and I are even still friends! _Aren K._


	23. First Steps

**23. First Steps**

Friday morning, Ella woke early enough to watch the sun rise in glorious color. She then sat and twiddled her thumbs—well, the one that worked at least—until eight o'clock, when there was a cheery knock on the door, and Shelly bounced into the room, smiling. She was followed by a man in his early thirties, with brown hair and an amused look in his gray eyes.

"Good morning, Ella!" Shelly called out. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not as well as you, apparently," Ella said, casting furtive looks at the man. Who was he, and what did he want? Why was he there? Shelly seemed oblivious to Ella's concern, but the man caught her apprehension. He placed a leather case on the table and sat down by her bed. He moved slowly and deliberately, and Ella felt as though he was trying not to scare her.

"Ella, my name is Sean Murray. We haven't had the chance to meet yet, but I'm the other half of the perky one over there." He gestured to Shelly, who was arranging breakfast on the table and humming under her breath.

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir," Ella said quietly.

Sean shook his head. "You don't have to call me sir, Ella. You're on first-name basis with Shelly, and I hope you'll be comfortable enough with me to call me Sean." He glanced down at his watch. "Meanwhile, it's time for your next dose of potion." He reached into the case on the table, took out a phial, and checked the label. He handed it to Ella and motioned to the script on the label.

"That case has all of your doses, and they're all labeled like this one. Always take the next in the series; they're measured quite precisely, and you don't want to fiddle with the dosage."

Ella took the phial and downed it quickly, grabbing the glass of water on her bedside table to wash the taste away.

"Breakfast is ready!" Shelly called. "Ella, are you coming?"

Ella looked up in confusion. How was she supposed to get to the table on the other side of the room?

"I would, but—" She waved her good hand at her legs. Shelly smacked her palm to her forehead.

"I knew I forgot something," she said, and grabbed a stick leaning against the wall by the door. "Here's your cane." She handed it to Ella.

The cane was a beautiful piece of work. Made from mahogany, it glowed in the morning sun. The leg of the cane was carved in twisting spirals, which curved up to the handle and formed a bird with a long tail and wings stretched back in flight. Even with the intricate carving, it was smooth and light, yet it felt very solid when Ella tapped it against the bed.

"The design is called Phoenix Rising. I thought it was appropriate for you," Shelly explained.

"New life rising from the ashes of the old?" Ella asked.

"Exactly," Shelly replied. "Now, out of bed with you, and over to the table."

Ella sat up straight in the bed and moved over to the edge. She swung her legs over and down to the floor, then used the cane to steady herself as she stood. She walked slowly to the table, making certain that she balanced her weight between the cane and her stiff leg. What amazed her was that she felt no pain at all. Her leg was simply stiff, and she knew it wouldn't hold her weight. It wasn't numb, but it didn't feel normal, either. She sat down with a sigh in the chair Shelly slid out, glad to have gained the ability to move herself around again.

The three shared breakfast, with Shelly and Sean discussing a variety of topics, while Ella tried to learn to eat right-handed. When they finished, Sean excused himself to begin his rounds in the hospital.

As he walked out of the room, Doctor Arres walked in. The mediwitch smiled at Ella and pulled Sean's vacated chair around to sit facing her.

"Well, Miss Dafydd, are you ready for me to kick you out of here?"

Ella bit her lip and nodded. "I suppose I am, Doctor Arres. Thank you for everything."

Doctor Arres laughed softly. "You're quite welcome, Ella. Now, I hope that I never have to see you again, other than when you visit Sean and Shelly. However, if you have any medical problems, your nurse at school knows to call me immediately. I do need your promise that you will go to her if anything should happen, or if you feel anything is wrong. We worked too hard to put you back together again to have you ignore problems or tough them out. Remember, with your potion, you shouldn't feel any pain. If you do, something is wrong, and you must write yourself a one-way ticket to the hospital wing. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am. I promise," Ella affirmed.

Doctor Arres ran a hand over Ella's hair and smiled again. "I know you'll hold to that, so Wass Hale and farewell, Miss Dafydd." She stood and left the room with a purposeful stride.

Shelly dug around in the large bag she had carried into the room and pulled out a pair of drawstring trousers and a loose shirt. She handed them over to Ella with a smile.

"Here, I really didn't know your size, but we can make these work. Our second stop is at a clothing store anyway, so you won't have to wear those for long."

Ella pulled the trousers on under her nightgown and pulled on the drawstrings to cinch the waist in. Her left hand worked well enough to steady the strings while she slowly tied them with her right.

"I hate having to do things right-handed," she grumbled.

She pulled her arms out of the sleeves of the nightgown and slipped the shirt on underneath, then pulled the gown off with a sigh of relief, glad she hadn't had to ask Shelly for help.

Meanwhile, Shelly had pulled a pair of slip-on shoes out of the bag, along with a hat with a brim that folded up in the front. Ella pulled both on and waited while Shelly packed away the few things Ella had collected during her stay. She came around to where Ella stood and handed her a tall but narrow handbag.

"What's that for?" Ella asked her, looking the bag over.

"It holds your day's doses of medicine, so you don't have to go running back to your case every four hours; I've already put in the rest of today's phials. Are you ready to go, then?"

Ella turned to look at Shelly, took a deep breath, and nodded. They walked through the halls of the hospital together to the outer door.

Outside it was another beautiful day, the morning sun shining down through a cloudless sky. Shelly opened the door of a van that was parked next to the curb.

"I don't usually drive something this big, but I didn't think it would be fair to you to have to climb in and out of a compact," she explained as Ella climbed in.

Ella didn't respond as Shelly shut the door and walked around to the driver's side. It felt strange to be outside, dressed the way she was, and she had to stifle a shiver of fear as the question of what her father would think crossed her mind.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Ella," Shelly said gently as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Are you a mind-reader now?" Ella asked with just a touch of impertinence.

"No, but I _am_ a social worker, and I am also your caseworker, and I know very well what you went through. It's perfectly understandable that the habits and instincts that you've survived by over the last eleven years would surface as you started living your life again. That's nothing to be ashamed of; you'll eventually learn that you don't have to be afraid."

Ella leaned her head back against the seat. "It just feels odd, you know? Like any moment I'll wake up and this will just be another dream, and I'll be in the basement, or locked in my room, and I'll just have had another useless, worthless fancy of what my life could have been like. I don't want to wake up, Shelly, I really don't."

Shelly laid a hand on Ella's arm. "This one isn't a dream, love, it's real. And we're going to make it so much better than anything that you've dreamed about. I am your godmother after all—your wish is my command."

Ella rolled her head towards Shelly, and they both broke into laughter.

The van pulled into a car park at the end of a street of busy shops. Shelly turned off the ignition, but made no move to get out. She turned to Ella, all traces of mirth and mischief gone from her face.

"Ella, before we go out there, you need a crash course in current events. It doesn't look like it, but the wizarding world is in the middle of a nasty civil war. Do you remember when I told you that some people care overmuch about bloodlines?"

Ella nodded silently.

"Well, there is a madman who has gathered all of those types of people under his command. He's trying to overthrow the Ministry and the other bastions of power in the wizarding world, so he can order things his way. There are multiple groups fighting him, but in a world where one can magically disappear and reappear, it's hard to fight a fair battle. Both sides are limited to strikes and feints. Like all civil wars, it's hard to know who is on which side. So, when we're out and about, for your safety and his, you cannot refer to your uncle as anyone other than "Uncle Sev." You cannot use his full name, or tell people he is a professor at Hogwarts."

"Why not, Shelly?"

"Your uncle is one of the people who is fighting for the wizarding world. There are those who would harm you, or threaten you to get to him. No one knows him as Sev, though, so you can call him by that name and tell people he's a potions master. That's all they really need to know. As to why you live with him and not your parents, I wouldn't go into detail. Just say that he is your guardian, and let people make the inferences that they will."

"You want me to lie?" Ella looked troubled.

"No, not lie, equivocate. Give the barest amount of truth, and nothing more. It isn't your fault if people make assumptions based on the truth you give them. Honesty is the best policy, but no one has ever survived life by being completely open and honest. If someone tells you he has, he's lying." Shelly grinned at Ella, who managed a weak smile in return.

"Now, let's get this over with, I really don't enjoy shopping through crowds." Shelly climbed out of the van, followed by Ella.

They walked down the street, Shelly pointing out various sights, and the shops where they would get Ella's school supplies.

"Of course, we'll still have to go to London for some of the things; you can't get a good quality wand anywhere else that Olivander's, for instance."

Ella nodded her head, though she had no idea what Shelly was talking about.

"Here we are!" Shelly opened a door marked "Madame Tessa's Tresses, Cuts and Styles, Satisfaction Guaranteed," and motioned Ella inside. There was no one sitting in the single stylist's chair in the room, but a pleasant-looking woman came out from the back while the bell over the door was still jingling. Her hair was an incredible creation of braids and curls and seemed to have strands of every hair color imaginable. Ella's eyes widened at the thought of what the woman would do to her hair, but Shelly's hand on her shoulder held her in place.

"Tessa, I see you still have the same interesting hair style. Tell me, have you ever scared anyone away with that look?" Shelly's voice was warm and friendly, and Ella relaxed slightly.

"Only the ones I didn't want in my shop anyway," Tessa replied. "What can I do for you today?"

Shelly nodded down at Ella. "My goddaughter here has had her hair in braids her whole life, and I wanted to give her the treat of a new style before she goes off to Hogwarts. Do you have the time?"

Tessa smiled and waved them further into the room. "Of course I do. I always have time for my friends. Take a seat here, sweetheart." She pointed Ella to the chair. Ella walked over and carefully sat down, hooking her cane over the arm of the chair.

"Now, let's see what we have to work with." Tessa pulled the hat off Ella's head, and quickly combed out the braids. "When was the last haircut you had, dear?"

"Never," Ella replied.

"Oh me, oh my. We have our work cut out for us, don't we?" Tessa exclaimed happily.

XxX

An hour later Shelly and Ella were back out on the street, and Ella kept making double takes when she caught her reflection in the passing windows. Her hair had lost almost six inches, now ending at her mid-back. It was loose, with springy curls bouncing against her back. Tessa had done something to the front so that it framed her face, and softened the edges of her profile. Ella couldn't believe the difference. When she had first seen it in the mirror she had stared in wonder. She truly looked like a different person.

"There's no chance of someone connecting you with poor Elizabeth now," Shelly had said quietly. Ella had smiled and played with one bouncy curl while Shelly had paid Tessa. She hadn't known her hair was curly, and the novelty hadn't worn off yet.

They made their way to a general clothing store where, with a smile and the mention of a compete new wardrobe, Ella and Shelly were led to a large, comfortable fitting room while the clerk brought in various outfits for Ella to try. That was wonderful, except for the mirrors that graced both sides of the dressing room. There was no way Ella could change without having to see her scarred back, something she had avoided for the past five years. She struggled with how to explain to Shelly, without exposing her secret.

"Ella, there's nothing wrong with changing in front of me. You know, at school you're going to be living in a dorm with other girls. You're going to have to get over this shyness. You can't change under the covers for the next seven years." Shelly's voice was filling with exasperation

"Then I'll change in the loo. I don't care. I don't change in front of other people." Ella crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. Shelly threw her hands up in disgust and left the changing room.

"I'll be right out here, if you want to show me any of the clothes."

Ella grimaced, sorry she had upset Shelly. But this was something she wanted no one to see, and no one had, outside of her family, until she was taken to the hospital. She quickly stripped, facing the one of the blank walls in the dressing room, not turning her head to grab the first of the outfits. It was a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved top. She pulled them on, then turned to face the mirror. To her horror, she saw that the red lines of her scars extended past the legs of the shorts by several inches. The back neckline of the top was no better. She could see tracings of scars there, as well. With a cry of distress, she pulled the clothes off and threw them across the room. Shelly knocked on the door and called out.

"Ella, is something wrong? What happened?" She opened the door while Ella was still pulling on the clothes Shelly had bought for her, and understanding dawned.

"Oh Ella, I'm such an idiot."

Ella turned too quickly, lost her balance and thankfully landed in the padded chair that sat in the room. She buried her face in her hands, mortified that Shelly had seen.

"Ella, don't. Don't hide. It's not your fault. Please, love, look at me."

Ella shook her head, her hair hanging down on either side of her face. She didn't want to look at the pity on Shelly's face. She didn't want pity from anyone, ever. She didn't want to be known as that poor girl whose father beat her. She hated that kind of attention.

Shelly's finger came under her chin, forcing Ella's face up. If she was surprised by the lack of tears, she didn't say anything. She waited patiently for Ella to raise her eyes, the years of experience as a social worker coming in to play. After a long time Ella slowly looked up. Her expression was closed—a shield, Shelly knew, against whatever came.

Ella looked at Shelly, her eyes searching the woman's face for signs of pity. There didn't seem to be any there. Instead, Shelly's face was composed, almost impassive.

"There was more to the issue than shyness, wasn't there?" she asked quietly.

Ella bit her lip and nodded slowly. How much was safe to tell? she wondered. How much would Shelly understand?

"I hate my scars," she said flatly. "I hate them. All of them. And you can see them from under those clothes. I won't wear anything where people can see them. I won't."

Shelly nodded. "Makes sense to me. Why don't we go through the stack here and see what might work, and then we'll get the clerk to bring something more appropriate." She paused, then continued softly. "I understand your feelings Ella. You have every right to hate what happened to you and the marks it left behind. You don't have to hide that from me. Would it help if I blanked the mirrors in here, so that you can change and then come out to see what it looks like?"

Ella sat back in surprise. "You can do that?" she asked incredulity.

"I'm a witch, Ella; of course I can. Do you still want me to leave? I promise not to look while you change."

Ella looked carefully at Shelly. There was something more to that statement, something Shelly wasn't saying. Suddenly it dawned on her.

"You've already seen them, haven't you? That's why you weren't surprised when you came in."

Shelly nodded. "I saw them when we found you, Ella."

"Then my Uncle Sev, and Sean, they saw them, too?" Shelly nodded again, and Ella laughed mirthlessly. "Then you know. You've seen what I haven't had the courage to look at since I was six. Pretty pathetic, aren't I?"

"No, Ella, I wouldn't call you pathetic. You suffered for a very long time, and you survived. One day you may look on your scars as badges of honor. Or you may hate them for the rest of your life. Either way, they are a reminder of what you went through, and I don't think you really need that reminder right now. You have every right not to look and see what was done to you."

Ella looked up, her eyes holding the faintest glimmer of hope. If Shelly was telling her the truth, she wasn't being stupid or childish. She liked the thought that it was okay for her to hate her scars, that she didn't have to accept them. She felt a slight release of the tension in her shoulders. Maybe it would be okay.

Shelly had allowed Ella time to think things through, but eventually she broke into her pondering.

"I think I've pulled out everything that's too short, or cut too low. See what you think about what's left."

Ella picked up a pair of pin-striped trousers, which was paired with a button-down blouse with large cuffs. She looked at Shelly, who pulled a stick of wood—her wand, Ella realized—and twirled it in the air. The mirrors frosted over, and Ella quickly donned the outfit while Shelly turned her back.

"What do you think?" she asked her godmother.

"Very stylish. You may end up being a little more formally dressed than your classmates, but I think we can make this work."

Together they worked their way through the clothing samples, choosing things for every season and situation, from pajamas to casual clothing to things to wear to a fancy dinner. Their selections piled up higher and higher, until Ella shook her head.

"This is going to cost a fortune. Are you sure I can afford all this, Shelly?"

"I'm sure. The thing is, normally these would have been purchased over time, spreading the cost out. It just looks like a lot now, piled all together. The good thing is you won't have to do this too often. These are all charmed with repairing and size-adjustment spells. Unless something goes completely out of style, you'll be able to wear these for years. I think we've got pretty much everything, though, unless there's something we've forgotten."

"No, not clothes-wise anyway. I need a couple pairs of shoes, and that will cover everything except my uniform. You said it's a robe that goes over whatever I'm wearing?"

"Yup, and I think they even carry the robes here. Let me check."

Shelly left for a short time, and when she returned, she was followed by a woman carrying a set of black robes. They were quickly fitted to Ella and added to the pile. Shelly gathered up the pile and waved her wand, lifting the clothes into the air. She led Ella to the shoe department, and several pairs of shoes were added to the pile. They made their way to the counter, where the clerk was eyeing them warily. Shelly plunked the pile on to the counter and without a word turned to the rack of accessories that sat nearby. She added a watch and several items of jewelry, then nodded at Ella.

"I think that does it."

The woman at the counter slowly added up the total, looking all the while as though she expected them to change their minds. When she finished she looked at Shelly.

"And how will you be paying today, madam?"

Shelly grinned. "I'm not, my goddaughter Ella is. We'll just deduct it from her Gringott's account."

The woman's lip curled unpleasantly. "To have an automatic withdrawal from an account, the person must be the named account holder."

"I am," Ella said quietly. The woman looked at her with shock.

"Then please place your right index finger here," she said, holding out a block of marble. Ella complied, and was surprised when the words _Elizabeth Dafydd_ floated into the air above the block and turned gold. Suddenly, the woman's attitude changed completely, and she became very helpful, suggesting several other things that would "complement" her selection. Ella shook her head no, and Shelly rolled her eyes. All of the clothes somehow fit into two paper bags with convenient handles that Shelly lifted as they went out the door.

"I hate people who try to ingratiate themselves with the wealthy. It's so crass," Shelly muttered under her breath.

Ella laughed. "I've never been wealthy before, so I've never noticed it. I imagine it would get old pretty quickly. Where to next?"

They traversed from store to store over the next hour, buying the school supplies that were available in town. Shelly ordered most of the things to be delivered to her house so they wouldn't have to carry them. Ella was tired and hungry as noon approached. She glanced at her new watch and tapped Shelly's arm.

"I have to take my next dose in a little while. Is there somewhere we can get a bite to eat?"

Shelly checked her own watch and whistled. "I'm glad you were paying attention, Ella. I'd lost track of time. My favorite teashop is right over there, and they serve a lovely luncheon. Let's go."

She led Ella across the street to a store with the sign "Tea and Crumpets" hanging above the door. They entered and were quickly settled at a table for lunch.


	24. Meetings and Happenings

**24. Meetings and Happenings **

The inside of Tea and Crumpets was not what Ella had imagined. Instead of a ladies' shop with ruffles on the tablecloths, spindly chairs, and fussy tableware, or an austere public lunch counter, the shop seemed to be an eclectic collection of tables and place settings, as though a group of women had raided their china cabinets and linen closets to provide the dishes. The tables and chairs were in styles ranging from Louis XIV to overstuffed chairs pulled up to low tables to furniture with very modern and simple lines. Yet somehow it worked.

The people sitting at each table seemed to fit the style of the table, as well. Over in the far corner an imperious woman with white hair piled on top of her head held court from a throne-like chair and sipped from a gold plated teacup. Over on the other side of the room, four teenage girls were lounging on backless padded benches, curling their legs up under them and eating from square-cut plates and bowls. The shop should have looked thrown together or cluttered, but somehow the style worked.

Ella looked up and saw that the ceiling was higher than she had expected, and the upper walls were decorated with beautiful embroidered and woven tapestries. She stumbled and almost fell when she saw the figures in one tapestry begin to move. Shelly caught her arm and steadied her, looking to see what had caused her surprise.

"Oh, magic tapestries; very hard to make and very expensive. This is one of the few places where you will see this many. The owner of the shop has a side business in manufacturing and selling them."

"So, magic tapestries are supposed to move?" Ella asked with amazement.

"In the wizarding world, pictures and paintings move about. It's done with a potion applied to the canvas or paper during the creative process. It's much harder with tapestries though. I think it has something to do with the knots in the thread, or something like that. I don't really know, I've never asked. The thing is, the difficulty in creating a living tapestry is enough that they are rather rare. You're looking at a fortune hanging from the ceiling."

As Shelly explained this, they had been led to a table with traditional chairs. They weren't whimsical, but Ella was glad she would be able to stand up after she sat down.

They were seated, but no menus were provided. Ella looked around curiously. The women sitting at the tables around them seemed to be eating a variety of food, so it wasn't as if there was no choice to be had. She cleared her throat.

"Shelly, should we have gotten menus from the hostess?"

Shelly laughed. "No, Ella, this is a very different teashop. The owner will come around and decide what to serve us. Don't worry, though; her choices are always perfect."

Ella wasn't convinced, but her watch showed her that she didn't have time to argue. She pulled her noon dose out of the carrier, broke the seal and swallowed it back. She tried not to make too obvious of a face, but it was hard. She opened her eyes to find a woman standing beside the table, holding a cup and saucer.

"Strong jasmine tea, not too hot, a dash of cream. Just the thing to clear the mouth of bad tastes," she said briskly, placing the cup on the table in front of Ella.

Without stopping to thank the woman, Ella took the cup and swallowed quickly. The spicy tea washed away all traces of the potion, and Ella set the cup down with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, that really helped."

Shelly leaned forward in her chair. "Ella, I'd like you to meet Rhan Ymlaen. She's a classmate of mine from Hogwarts and the owner of Tea and Crumpets. Rhan, this is Ella Dafydd, my goddaughter."

Rhan smiled down at Ella and bowed formally. "We are honored that you should come into our humble shop," she said quietly.

Ella considered the regal-looking woman, and was moved to formality of her own. "Thank you," she said, extending her hand. "Your shop is very original and welcoming, and your tapestries are exquisite. Never have I seen such intricate work, not even in museum-quality pieces."

"I shall pass on your compliments," Rhan replied. "Please enjoy your meal." She swiftly walked away, leaving the cup of tea behind on the table.

Ella did not have a chance to ask Shelly the questions that were swarming through her brain because a parade of trays carried by several different women came through the teashop to their table. Plates of finger sandwiches; strawberries with cream; crumpets with small bowls of Devonshire cream, lemon curd, and marmite; petit-fours with sugared violets; slices of shortcake, with a variety of fruit toppings; and finally a dessert tray stacked with fancy biscuits, all came to rest on their table. Two small pots of tea with steam wisping out the tops finished the presentation. Ella looked at the feast spread before her and had to stop herself from remembering all the days and nights she had gone hungry as punishment. She looked up to find that Shelly had the same bemused expression Ella felt on her own face.

"Do they always put out this kind of selection?" she asked quietly.

Shelly shook her head. "No, but you know what? I'm not going to ask. I'm simply going to enjoy the most incredible tea I've ever seen. I suggest you do the same."

They tucked into the fabulous meal. Although the selection was enormous, the portions had been measured almost perfectly, and there was very little left on the table when they were finished. Through the meal, Ella questioned Shelly about the wizarding world and the way things worked.

"Shelly, I was wondering," Ella began.

"What?"

"In the fairy tales I read in school, with witches and genies, and wishes and all, is any of that true? I mean, did any of it really happen, and just get turned into fairy tales?"

"Lots of it did, Ella. Almost every story you've ever read has some grain of truth to it. What was your favorite fairy tale?"

"Rapunzel. Not the wishy-washy version, but the ones where Zel has brains and courage and all that."

"Would you like to know the true parts of that one?" Shelly asked with a smile.

"Of course," Ella replied.

"A thousand years ago, in Wales, the king betrayed one of his lords, and massacred all the men of the family. The women fled, and hid in the country estate that had been the dowry of the lady of that family. The women lived there for years, keeping their existence secret. One day, a young girl was drying her hair in the window of her room, singing to herself, when a man rode close, having been lost in woods while hunting. They fell in love at first sight, if such a thing is possible, and she climbed out her window, using a rope the same color as her hair, and they rode off together. She made him promise that he would never tell the location of the estate, making up a story of a wicked guardian who had locked her in her room. Over the years, the story changed and grew, as most stories will, to become Rapunzel of the long golden hair."

Rhan had walked up during Shelly's story, and when she finished, smiled mysteriously. "Telling fairy tales, are we?" she asked.

"Ella asked if any of them were true," Shelly explained.

"Where did you learn that story?" Rhan asked.

"You told me, back when we were second years," Shelly said with a smirk.

"Oh, I forgot," Rhan quipped. "How was your meal?"

"Incredible as always," Shelly replied. "Though the selection was a bit grander than I'm accustomed to."

Rhan smiled broadly. "Tea and Crumpets serves what our customers need. It may not be what you expect, but it will be what you need." She glided away to greet another table of women, who were celebrating something to judge from the cheers and laughs rising from the group.

Shelly stood and offered a hand to Ella. "Ready to go, then? We just have the bookshop left on the shopping list, and then we can go home."

Ella felt a chill pass over her when Shelly mentioned going home. Home had never been a place of rest or safety for her, but she refrained from telling Shelly, knowing it would lead to another social-worker/patient talk. She followed Shelly out the door into the afternoon sun and stopped short to keep from running into her godmother's back, as an explosion rocked the street and the sunlight dimmed.

"What was that?" Ella asked.

"Ella, go back into the shop. Tell Rhan there's been an attack on the safe house, and then stay with her until I return."

"Shelly? What's going on?" Ella felt a new chill as she remembered Shelly telling her the wizarding world was in the middle of a civil war.

"Now, Ella! Go!" Shelly cried and began running.

Ella was suddenly able to see what Shelly had been shielding her from. At the end of the street, past a park where children had been playing, a house lay in ruins. A cloud of debris was still rising into the air, and flames merrily devoured anything still standing. The hush that had flown over the street dissolved into screams as people realized what had happened and began running in various directions. Ella was frozen to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the green skull that floated in the air above the destruction.

A hand came down on her shoulder, and Ella turned her head to find Rhan.

"Rhan! Shelly said to tell you-"

"That there has been an attack on the safe house," Rhan finished for her. "So I see. Come inside, Ella; we'll wait where it is safe." Rhan guided Ella back through the doors of the rapidly emptying teashop.

The shop looked different with the absence of the tables of chatting women. The dimmed light from outside had darkened the shop as well, leaving it desolate and lonely. As Ella looked around, a new group of women came out from behind a curtained doorway.

"Rhan, what's happened?" asked one of the women.

"The safe house was destroyed. We need to go into the back before I tell you more." Rhan led Ella and the others through the curtain, down a flight of stairs, and through a solid wooden door to a workroom with tapestries in various states of construction.

"Should she be back here?" asked the woman who had spoken before, in an unwelcoming tone. Ella looked up at Rhan.

"Yes, she should," Rhan answered. "Ella, may I present my sisters, Morgan, Gwen, Brenna, and Elise." She pointed to each woman as she was named. "Sisters, this is Ella Dafydd." She spoke Ella's last name with a peculiar emphasis, and Morgan, who had questioned Ella's presence, sat down in a chair in apparent shock.

"She should indeed," Morgan said quietly.

Ella looked from one woman to another, feeling very confused. Obviously her name meant something to these women, but she didn't know what. At the same time, admitting she didn't know the significance of her own name would lead to a discussion as to why she did not, something she wished to avoid at all costs.

Rhan gestured to an empty chair, which Ella took gratefully. She tucked a strand of hair nervously behind her ear with her right hand, causing her ring to catch the light.

Brenna sat down next to her. "That's a beautiful ring, Ella. Have you had it long?"

"I received it as a gift on my naming day," Ella replied, remembering Shelly's advice to give the truth in small, measured doses.

"Were you out shopping with your Guardian?" asked another of the women—Elise, Ella remembered after a moment.

"No, I was with my godmother, Shelly Murray. We were getting my school supplies."

"Off to Hogwarts are you?" Morgan asked, her voice now warm and interested.

"Yes, I'll be a first year," Ella replied.

XxX

Ella sat with the five Ymlaen sisters for over an hour, learning about the art of making living tapestries, hearing stories about Hogwarts, and dodging questions about herself as best she could. They were interrupted when a voice called from the top of the stairs.

"Rhan? Ella? Are you down there?" It was Shelly, who had returned as promised. Ella had managed to forget the reason she was there in the first place, but the image of the burning house returned to her with a rush. Rhan led them all up to meet Shelly, and soon they were all seated around a large table with a pot of tea.

"What happened, Shelly? How many were hurt?" Morgan asked.

Shelly shook her head sadly. "The Ministry had a mother and daughter staying at the safe house. They were attacked, and we think both grabbed emergency portkeys out. We've found the daughter, but we haven't found the mother yet. When the house blew to pieces, some of the shrapnel hit kids at the park. No one was badly hurt, but just the fact that they were willing to have that much collateral damage sets a different standard when we face them in conflict. What next? Will they destroy an entire block to get to a single person? Has all life become of so little value to them? I just don't know." She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs.

"I have so many children who have lost one or both parents. I don't know that I can face another child and tell her that her mother is dead, or that his father will not be coming home. I just can't!"

Rhan gathered Shelly in her arms and patted her back.

"There, there, it's just been a long day. You'll get through it the way we all do, one step, one day at a time. It won't last forever, and you'll have plenty of days of peace."

"So may it be," Shelly whispered into Rhan's shoulder. "So may it be."

She sat back in her chair and wiped her eyes. Turning to Ella, who had been watching with wide eyes and uncertain fears, she asked, "Ella, love, do you mind if we go home now, and get the rest of your things when we go to London tomorrow?"

Ella wordlessly shook her head and followed Shelly to the van. Her earlier fears had all been washed away, and she wanted nothing more than to go home.


	25. In Dreams

**25. In Dreams**

They arrived at Sean and Shelly's house in relatively short order, and Ella was introduced to home life in the wizarding world. Her first shock was when the gargoyle sitting on the gatepost turned its head and stuck its tongue out at her.

"Ebenezer, be nice. Ella's a new member of the house. She's to be welcomed here," Shelly admonished the stone creature. It turned to face her and pouted dramatically, its lower lip drooping almost two inches. Shelly raised an eyebrow, and it turned back to Ella and smiled. Personally, she preferred the tongue; the smile was much more grotesque. Shelly lightly hit it on the back of the head, and it blew a raspberry at her.

"Ebenezer turns away salesmen, solicitors, and children selling candy to raise money for school," Shelly explained to Ella. "He's better than a watch dog, because he can't be bribed, doesn't sleep, and usually doesn't make a mess of the garden."

"Usually?" Ella asked quizzically.

"If you ever see a pigeon try to land on his head, duck and run."

Shelly led the way through the front door, moving aside the packages that had already been delivered. The interior of the house seemed to be ordinary, but Ella was beginning to catch on that the ordinary seldom was in the wizarding world. So when Shelly led her down a hallway that stretched longer than the outside of the house, she managed to bite her tongue. At the end of the hall, Shelly opened a door and beckoned Ella inside.

"This will be your room when you're away from Hogwarts," she said. She stood back and allowed Ella to explore the spacious room, with the large bed, carved desk, and a chaise-lounge set beneath the window. Ella turned around to face Shelly, filled with disbelief.

"This is mine? You have to be joking. It's too much, Shelly. You don't have to give me the biggest room in your house."

"Ella, it's not the biggest room. Not the smallest either. It's just a room, one you can enjoy. I want you to have a place you can call your own when you come home. This is that place. If you want to change anything, let me know."

"Change?" Ella laughed, "Change this beautiful room? Not on your life!"

Shelly laughed with Ella. "Very well. To tell you the truth, Ella, I'm completely bushed from this morning. I'm going to take a bit of a nap before Sean gets home. Please, feel free to explore the house and garden. If you get hungry, anything in the kitchen is fair game. All I would ask is that you don't leave the garden. Otherwise, you have free rein."

Shelly left to take her nap, opening a door halfway down the hall and closing it behind her. Ella sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking her head in wonder. Being allowed to wander around the house, to eat whatever she liked, even to go outside, was so unfamiliar to her, she didn't have a single idea where to start. Slowly gathering her courage, she stood and walked out of her room, being careful not to thump her cane against the floor.

Ella walked back down the long hallway to the living room, where her eye was caught by a bookshelf. She didn't recognize most of the titles on the shelf, but one thick book was a welcome sight. Ella had read _The Lord of the Rings_ the year before in school, she had loved the story, and she had heard rumors that someone was trying to make a movie of the book. She hoped if it happened that the director would stay true to the story, for the sake of all of the fans of the novel. She carefully picked the book up and tucked it under her arm. Still walking quietly, she went through the kitchen to the back door Shelly had pointed out when they had entered the house. In the back garden she found a comfortable padded chair she could curl up in and spent a couple of hours losing herself in the story. That was where Shelly found her when she woke up from her nap.

"Enjoying the story?" Shelly's voice make Ella jump in her chair. She turned guiltily to find Shelly standing at the back door with two glasses in her hands.

"Don't look so worried, Ella. I told you to make yourself at home," Shelly admonished. She set down one of the glasses on the arm of Ella's chair, and picked up the book that had fallen from Ella's hands.

"Good story! Have you read it before?"

Ella nodded. "I have, but there are a lot of details in here that I don't recall reading before. I never miss this much detail when I read a book. I don't get it!"

Shelly laughed and turned the book over. "You read the Muggle version, Ella. JRR Tolken was a wizard—a very gifted one at that. When his story was published, he created two versions of it. One was written for the wizarding world, the other was abridged for the Muggle world. What made him so gifted was that both versions were beautifully crafted and can be enjoyed without knowledge of the other. Now, before we make dinner, let's get all your packages inside and start getting your trunk packed for school."

Shelly helped Ella out of the chair and waved her wand at the bags and boxes littering the entryway of the house. To Ella's amazement, they lifted off the floor and floated down the hallway to Ella's room with no visible effort on Shelly's part.

"That was wicked!" Ella exclaimed.

"No, that was the first charm you will learn in class at Hogwarts. Very useful little thing when you have too many things to carry, or things too heavy to lift."

The packages had stacked themselves neatly on the bed, and a trunk with her initials on the latch stood on the rug next to it. Ella looked over the mountain of clothes and supplies sitting on the bed and back at the comparatively small trunk.

"I'm never going to be able to pack everything in there, and I still don't have my school books!" Ella cried.

"You certainly will," Shelly assured her. "Let's get everything unpacked."

There was one box of supplies that Ella did not recognize after they had taken out the clothes, robes, cloak, gloves, hat, quills, parchment, telescope, and the new knapsack that had taken Shelly close to half an hour to pick out ("got to have one that is up to the load and will last the course, you know,"). Shelly slit open the tape on the lid and handed two sheets of parchment to Ella. One was a packing list for all of the potions supplies she would need, which were stacked neatly in the box, from a beautiful new cauldron to the finest crystal phials she had ever seen. The other parchment was a letter, addressed to her.

_Dear Ella,_

_Though I cannot got out with you to purchase your supplies for school, I would be remiss if I did not make certain that you had the best materials available for Potions class. Please accept these as a start-of-year gift from me._

_Fondly,_

Uncle Sev

"Leave it to him to consider a cauldron an appropriate present," Shelly muttered.

"No, it was nice of him to make sure I started off right in his subject. I don't want to disappoint him, and I don't know anything about brewing potions. I'll need all the help I can get," Ella retorted. She looked over the unpacked supplies.

"How is this all going to fit in there?" she asked, pointing at the trunk.

Shelly sighed and waved her wand under Ella's nose. "Magic, Ella, magic. The trunk is charmed to hold more and weigh less than it appears. Nothing in this world is the same as the Muggle equivalent. Get used to it!"

Ella bit her lip to hold back a response, knowing Shelly was right. She opened the trunk and carefully placed the potions supplies, telescope, and bulkier school supplies in the bottom, then began folding clothes tightly and packing them around the supplies. Even with the charms, there was just enough room left in the lid to pack in her books when they picked them up. She turned to Shelly, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to finish.

"You were right. I'm sorry. I'll do a better job of remembering."

"It's all right, Ella; you just have to trust that I really do know what I'm doing. I'm a Muggle-born witch, too. When I started at Hogwarts, I didn't have anyone there to warn me that stairs could move, mirrors could talk, and trunks could be made to weigh nearly nothing. I had to learn a lot of things the hard way. I'm just trying to save you from that. Now, Sean should be home soon, so let's get dinner ready." Shelly jumped off the bed, and waited for Ella to stand up.

In the kitchen Ella was relegated to stirring the soup pot, while Shelly chopped, grated, and threw together a salad. They had just placed plates on the table when Sean walked through the door.

"All right, I know I'm in the wrong house. What did you do with my wife?" Sean accused Shelly.

"Very funny, Sean. You'll make Ella think I never cook," Shelly protested.

"And you're going to make her think you have nothing better to do than have dinner on the table when I get home. Not that I'm complaining, mind you; it is a nice surprise."

They sat down to eat, while Sean filled Shelly and Ella in on his latest visit to Snape at Hogwarts. Snape was healing well, and he and Sean had cooked up a plan to disguise Ella's background and connection with Snape.

"You see, Ella, many years ago, your uncle chose to join the Dark Lord, Voldemort, in his quest to gain dominance in the wizarding world. He regretted that decision, but there is no turning back once you've made that choice. The best he could do was serve as a double agent, working to bring about the downfall of Voldemort. Now, because he seemed to be serving the Dark Lord, many people felt he was untrustworthy and became his enemies. However, his role was exposed Wednesday night, and now he has a whole new set of people mad at him, and not everyone from his original set of enemies believes he was truly working on the side of the light.

"All that to say, Severus is worried about your safety if people know he is your uncle. There are far too many people who would hurt you or take you hostage to get to him.

"Not only that, but he's maintained a reputation as a hardhearted bastard for the last twenty years, and it wouldn't do for him to reveal that he actually can be a nice person." Shelly said with a grin.

"Hush, you," Sean retorted.

Ella looked troubled. "So I won't be able to talk to him or anything at school?" she asked in a pained voice.

Sean shook his head. "That wasn't an option your uncle wanted to choose, so we worked out something else. You see, while at University, your uncle became a close friend of another Potions Mastery student named Sebastian Euripides Vallentio, who everyone called Sev. They've remained friends since graduating, and Sev is your uncle's supplier of rare potions ingredients. Now, Sev is a recluse who spends his time traveling in remote places gathering materials and researching, but earlier this summer, he had to travel back to England. You see, his sister and her husband had been traveling up from Wales, where they live, and were in a tragic car accident. Sev came back to make arrangements for their funerals."

Ella held up a hand, shaking her head. "Why are you telling me all this, Sean? What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything, so pay attention because there will be a test at the end. At University, and even after, people called your uncle, Snape. They called Sebastian, Sev. So, when you talk about your Uncle Sev the Potions Master, people will draw the conclusion that you're talking about Sebastian Vallentio. So, when you, a girl with a Welsh last name, show up at school, claiming parents who died in a car accident so that you're under the guardianship of your uncle but living with your godparents, your story will check out at first, second, and even third glances. Lastly, when your uncle receives his potions supplies from Sev next week, he will announce to the faculty that Sev has asked him to serve as a mentor to his niece, who is coming to Hogwarts. Thus, no one will think twice when you spend time alone with your uncle, because they will all assume he is merely acquiescing to the request of his old friend. Problem solved. There are two people besides Severus at Hogwarts who know your identity as his niece, and those are the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress. Everyone else only knows you as Ella Dafydd, with no other past connections at all."

Ella looked up at Sean with the hint of a smirk on her face. "You are certainly lucky I know how to speak Welsh, aren't you? Otherwise, that cover story would fall though in a heartbeat."

Sean's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked shocked. "You can? We didn't even think about that bit of detail. How'd we miss that?" His eyes unfocused as he mentally went back through the plan in his mind and then snapped back into focus with relief. "We didn't miss it, Sev's brother-in-law grew up in England. He never learned Welsh and may not have expected his daughter to speak the language, either. They had only moved to Wales a couple of years ago. If they'd had children, they would speak rudimentary Welsh at best."

While they finished dinner, Sean quizzed Ella about her new history and background. He tried to trick her with sudden changes of topic, repeated questions, and reworded inquiries. Ella carefully avoided all of his traps, and by the time Shelly brought out dessert, Sean was satisfied that Ella was prepared to face the world.

By the time dinner was finished, Ella was exhausted. Shelly shooed her off to bed, refusing all of her offers and attempts at clearing the table and doing the dinner dishes. Ella gratefully climbed into bed, and as he drifted off to sleep, she heard Sean and Shelly quietly talking outside her door.

"Will she be all right?" Shelly asked.

"Only time can truly tell. She seems resilient, though I'm sure issues will come up throughout her life that she'll have to deal with."

"Will it be safe for you to go to London tomorrow? If the Death Eaters are attacking in broad daylight, Diagon Alley will be a prime target. Especially with all of the children and families shopping for school supplies."

"Those same families will be our best defense. The children of the Death Eater families will be there, as well, and as of yet, they don't attack their own."

"I wish I could go with you. I don't like you going alone."

"We'll be fine, I promise."

Their voices drifted away as Ella drifted off to sleep.

XxX

In her dreams, Ella flew over a verdant green countryside to a wild ocean coast. She flew over pounding waves and sheltered coves to a gray stone castle that stood on the rim of a hill overlooking a lush valley. The gate through the curtain wall was open, and the inner courtyard teemed with activity. Men dressed in chain mail and helmets were mounted on impatient horses. Women dressed in long simple gowns with sideless surcoats carried small bundles to the men and passed them up to be tied behind saddles. Pinions flapping in the wind showed a rampant Griffin, with claws raised to attack. On the steps that led to the main building, a woman stood, her long dark hair snapping in the wind. She leaned over the stair railing to tie a scarf around the arm of one knight.

"Godspeed and safe return husband. I do not like your going, but I will not wish you ill on your departure."

"I've told you time and again, we have no choice but to answer the call of the prince. We will return in six weeks' time at the most. Keep the castle secure, close the gates if you must. You have enough supplies on hand to wait out our return. I have every confidence that you can handle whatever matters arise until I return. I know that you can take care of things."

"Just bring everyone home. Especially the children." She looked over to where a group of teenage boys sat uneasily on their horses. "I wish you did not have to take them; they've had no experience, and little training."

"Every man age fourteen and older must answer the call, or be foresworn. The boys will be kept out of combat. They are merely coming to attend the horses and mind the camp. Don't fear."

The lady reached out her hand, and her husband took it. They stayed connected for a time, looking over the bustling courtyard. Finally, he bowed his head over her hand and raised it up to his lips.

"Be well, my lady."

"Godspeed your return, my lord."

He rose in his stirrups and raised his hand the air. Slowly, the movement in the yard stilled as all attention was drawn his way.

"Men of Dafydd! We ride to answer the call of our prince. Let us go and show the quality of our house!" A cheer rose at his words, and he spurred his horse across the yard and out the gate. The men followed him in a thunder of hooves and a cloud of dust as they rode out and over the hillside. The Lady watched them go, not turning away until the last horse had disappeared from sight. With a sigh, she turned and climbed the last of the steps to the great hall.

The wooden beams of the roof were hung with banners, the stone walls warmed and softened by large tapestries. The Lady walked over to one tapestry depicting a Griffin nesting on a high peak. As she watched, the Griffin reared up on her hind legs, and called silently for her mate who was winging away in the distance. On the far edge of the tapestry, where the male had flown, a black storm cloud began to boil and roll, ominous flashes of lightening showing through the darkness.

"Do you reflect my own fears, or give a warning?" the Lady asked the tapestry. There was no answer, just the continued swell of the storm, while the female Griffin mantled her wings and hunched over the young in her nest.

XxX

As all dreams do, the images sifted and moved through time, without the limitations of wakefulness. The Lady now sat in her solar, the sun streaming through the leaded glass windows. With her were five other women, all at work on spinning, weaving, and embroidery. A young woman, heavily pregnant, entered carrying a basket. The Lady stood quickly and took it from her. "Medhir, you should not be carrying such loads now. One of the other girls must do this for you."

"Grandmother, you worry too much," the girl protested. "The basket isn't heavy—it only holds the new batch of bread for you all. Besides, this was the easiest job. All the others are out caring for the horses and helping store the tithe the farmer's wives are bringing in."

The Lady walked to the window and pulled a light-colored wand from her sleeve. She cast a spell on the glass, and sighed at the images reflected back at her.

"We are not the only ones hard hit by the prince's call," she said quietly. "Most of the families around our lands are struggling to work without their husbands and sons. Old men and boys are all that are left to tend the fields." She waved the images away and sat down once again. The girl walked to her, offering a roll of bread, still warm from the oven.

"Eat, Grandmother. We'll survive, as we always do."

"You are a kind soul, Medhir, to offer me comfort when your own husband is off facing the same danger."

"You carry the weight of all their fates, Grandmother. None of the rest of us can complain, because we fear only for one or two. You have husband, sons, and grandsons all out there, and you have shared all of our burdens."

"Away with you, child. You make me feel old with this talk. I won't abide that today." The Lady lightly pushed away the girl, who broke into laughter.

"You, old, Grandmother? Perish the thought. You will be playing with your great-great-grandchildren long before anyone can call you old." Medhir kissed the Lady on the cheek and left the solar, closing the door behind her.

One of the other women in the room grumbled as she ate her bread. "It doesn't seem right to me that just because our men live longer, they must answer the call to arms beyond their 45th year. If the prince would keep us in service longer, then he should not call our boys away as well. Our men are much more likely to be killed, because they serve so many more times. It isn't right!"

The Lady looked at her reprovingly. "And is it right that because we have magic our women don't die in childbirth as often, nor do our children die from simple illnesses? That is part of the price we pay when we live with people who have no magic—the price of Myrddin's Gift. Would you give it away, or wish for us to live in seclusion, separated from anyone who does not have magic? We have a great gift, and all such gifts come with a price. It is the balance of life, the judgment of fate for it to be so."

The Lady's speech was interrupted by a violent scream. Instantly, all six women drew their wands and ran from the solar to the great hall. A girl sat at a table in front of a polished silver mirror, screaming hysterically. The Lady rushed to the side of a woman who was shaking the girl's shoulder and calling franticly.

"What is it? What has she Seen?"

"I don't know, Mother. I can't get her to answer!" the woman replied with growing fear.

The Lady grabbed the mirror and turned it upside down. She took the girl by the shoulders and forced her to turn and face her.

"Eithne! Look at me! Look at my eyes, and return to yourself. You must return to tell us what you have Seen that has scared you so badly. Eithne! Return now!" She shook the girl once, then again. When there was no reply other than the screams that continued to rise from girl, she slapped her cheek sharply. The screams cut off and the girl gasped, her eyes wide with fright.

"Eithne, can you hear me?" the Lady asked urgently. The girl nodded jerkily. "What did you See? Tell me!" the Lady commanded.

The girl drew several short, jerky breaths. "I saw…I saw…Death. Betrayal. They were all betrayed, their camp attacked, everyone cut down where they stood." Her voice began to rise as hysteria returned.

"Who, Eithne? Who was betrayed?"

"The Dafydds. All of them. All of us."

There was an outcry from the women gathered in the hall. It rose until the Lady stood and commanded their silence.

"I must See what happened. Prepare the scrying mirror to break through the shields around the prince, so that I may find the truth behind this evil vision."

Several women ran from the room and returned quickly, carrying jars and candles. The Lady turned the mirror right side up once again and poured a preparation of oil, herbs, and salt on the silver surface. She sat the mirror on the ground and sat next to it, while the women placed the candles in a circle around her. Before the candles were lit, she looked up.

"Keep everyone back. I should be safe in the circle, but I do not know what powers I will face when I break through the shield." The women nodded, and the Lady lit the candles with a wave of her wand. She leaned over the mirror and cast the spell she had used to scry through her window earlier. This time she sent the spell searching over the distance to spy on Rhys ap Tewdwr, prince of Deheubarth. He was surrounded by protective spells, many set by her own family, to prevent the very action she was attempting. With power and spell, she broke through, and was able to listen in as he promised her lands, her home, and her daughters and granddaughters as payment for an alliance with the leader of the Norman wizards, a man by the name of Malleville.

The Lady banished the spell and extinguished the candles that encircled her. Her face was set, hard as stone, and a chilling light shone from her eyes. The woman silently gathered around her waiting to hear what she had learned.

"Our prince, Rhys ap Tewdwr, has grown dissatisfied with the service of the Dafydd family. He thinks if he offers a great enough prize to Norman wizards, they will keep him in power as a lap dog to the Conqueror."

"And what was the prize he offered?" one woman asked in the hush that had fallen over the hall.

"Us. The lands and women of the Dafydd. The price Malleville demanded was that the prince kill all of our men, and allow his son to take possession of this castle, and to choose from any of the women for his wife and the wives of his men. The rest will become servants, or disposed of as they see fit."

Chaos and hysteria reigned in the great hall until the Lady set a great clap of thunder loose above their heads.

"If you think that knowing this, we are going to sit here quietly awaiting our doom, you are gravely mistaken. Malleville doesn't know we are aware of his plans; he also doesn't know that all the women of this house are fully trained in magic. This gives us time, which we can use to our advantage. We may have been betrayed, but we can ensure that Malleville takes nothing but an empty stone building."

A young woman looked shocked. "You don't mean for us all to be dead? I won't do it, I won't take my own life!"

The Lady waved her hand dismissively. "Perish the thought, Ygerna, and save the melodrama. We are going to leave, and we will take everything of value with us that we can carry. Spread though the castle. Search every room, closet, box and chest. Bring everything down here to the great hall, and we will sort though everything. Hurry, we don't have more than two days before Malleville comes to claim his prize."

The women scattered, driven into motion by the threat of so short a time. The Lady left the hall, as well, but she went down into the basements rather than up to the rooms above. There was a great deal of value in the lower vaulted halls, including a large wine and beer cellar, the treasury, and the storerooms. At the end of the hall the Lady looked back to be certain no one had followed her and then tapped two distinct stones with her wand. The stones in the wall moved, not collapsing, but rearranging into a narrow archway that descended in a winding set of stairs out of sight.

The Lady walked down the stairs, lighting her way with her wand. At the bottom stood a narrow stone pillar, carved with runes and warnings, smoothed by the passage of years. She stepped up to the stone and lifted a fist sized rock that sat on top of the pillar. She struck the rounded top, causing a bell-like chime to ring through the underground passageway. Twice more she struck the pillar, then replaced the stone and stood back to wait.

It was not long before a gravely voice asked, "What do you what?"

The Lady spun to see a small figure standing in an opening in the chamber that had not existed moments ago. "I wish to speak with your Chief. I have an opportunity to discuss with him."

The figure regarded her suspiciously for a moment before asking, "What is the pass code to gain permission to speak with the Chief?"

"I claim the right of passage as the rightful Lady of Dafydd, and holder of the treaty between the humans of this holding, and the goblins of this tribe."

The goblin's lip twisted up. "A strong right indeed, if you are who you say you are. But I warn you, if you seek to deceive the Chief, you will regret it. If you pass through this doorway dishonestly, you will suffer great consequences."

"Though I appreciate your warning, it is unnecessary. You waste my time, when it is of the essence, and this opportunity is slipping away."

Grumbling, the goblin motioned for her to follow him, and he led her through twisting passageways that shifted as they traversed their corridors. The Lady stayed right behind her guide until he led her into the Great Hall of the goblins. There, in an elevated stone chair, carved from the finest marble, sat the chief of the goblins for the tribes that lived in the territory beneath the ground once held by the Dafydds. The chief considered the Lady with an air of boredom before acknowledging her presence.

"What does the Lady Dafydd desire to offer the goblins, and why does she come without her Lord?" he asked in a lofty voice.

"I come to offer an opportunity and a dilemma, Chief of the Goblins," she answered in a tone as uncaring as his.

"What are they, this dilemma and opportunity you offer?"

"What do the goblins prefer: to have treasure or to keep treasure?" the Lady asked.

"Is that not the same thing?" the Chief asked.

"Not at all. To prefer to have treasure means that the goblins enjoy the care of fine jewels and fabrics, the handling of gold and gems, and the preservation thereof. To prefer the keeping of treasure means that the goblins are more concerned with the quantity of their vaults than the quality, and one could not ask the goblins to hold a treasure in safekeeping, for the later return to the previous owner. So which do the goblins prefer, the having or the keeping?" The Lady waited while the Chief considered the dilemma.

The Chief finally answered her question, after a brief discussion with his advisors. "Our first reaction would be to answer the keeping of treasure, for what good is having treasure if one cannot keep it? However, your comment about quality over quantity, and the preservation of precious items has intrigued us. Are you considering asking the goblins to serve as keepers of some treasure for you?"

"If I can trust the goblins to safeguard my treasure, to preserve it until the time I ask for its return, then yes, that is the opportunity I am offering you."

The Chief and his advisors huddled around his fine chair, debating the sides of the issue in low voices. One goblin was sent out of the room for a short time, and he came back carrying an object he handed to the chief. In all, it was close to twenty minutes again before the Chief leaned back in his chair to give his answer.

"Because of the long treaty between this tribe and your house, the goblins of this tribe pledge to protect what treasure you give us, not as our own, but in safekeeping until you ask for its return. In pledge, we offer both our solemn word, and this token," he lifted the object the goblin had brought to him. "This is one of the rarest jewels found beneath the surface of the earth, an aurora diamond. This will be the token you, or your heir will bring us as proof of your claim to your treasure. Does this agreement meet with your approval?"

The Lady stepped forward and took the diamond from the Chief. It was a large diamond, an inch across, uncut and irregular in shape. The color changed as she turned it in the light, showing a pale yellow, a brilliant purple, and then a smoky gray.

"This stone is a treasure indeed, and it does meet with my approval."

"So where is this treasure we are taking?" the Chief asked with a gleam in his eye.

"We are being forced to leave Manobier Castle, and tonight we will be loading everything we can carry. There will be much left that we will be unable to take, and unwilling to leave for the new residents of the castle. Tomorrow morning, you have my full permission to loot anything of value from the castle and carry it away. I would prefer that the new owners arrive to nothing more than crumbs and broken crockery."

The Chief laughed heartily. "And I would assume that you will be gone, thus depriving them of another treasure as well."

"Quite true. Oh, one other thing, Chief Gringott: once we leave, the pact between your tribe and the Dafydds not to enter the other's domain though the portal ends; thus you may make as many trips through the castle as you desire. It will no longer be a possession of the Dafydd family."

Now every goblin in the chamber had an expression of greed. Chief Gringott rubbed his hands together. "And until the new owners learn about the portal and parlay with us, we can continue our access. My Lady, I wish you the best of success in your endeavor, as you have offered us a magnificent opportunity."

The Lady bowed her head regally, a smirk crossing her features. When the Mallevilles took possession of her castle, they would be in for some very great surprises.

The Lady climbed the twisting stairs up to the portal and sealed the wall behind her. In the hall, she found the women hard at work, carrying loads down from upper rooms, sorting them into piles, and packing them away into trunks. She summoned one of the women over to her.

"How goes it?"

"We'll load the tithing wagons to their limits, but there will be a great deal left over, especially of the nice things that won't help us survive."

"I've taken care of that. Anything of value that is left will be safely hidden away and protected tomorrow morning. Will we be able to leave tonight?"

"It will be close, but we should manage it, especially if we plan to leave after midnight. Where are going? Where will we be safe?"

The Lady smiled. "We are going to go to the Manor House by the sea. That was my dowry from my mother, and it remains mine. It is far enough away to be remote, close enough to reach in time. Also, we will be able to hide the manor from unfriendly eyes, which will make it defensible from attack. Continue on; I want to be well away by dawn."

XxX

Once again, the images shifted and changed, guiding the invisible observer to another time and place. The women were all gathered in another hall, this one smaller and paneled with wood. They seemed weary, but as a cauldron of soup made its way down the table, they relaxed and began to talk quietly. The Lady allowed the women and girls to eat in peace, but when she stood, silence fell quickly over the hall.

"My daughters, you have done well in these trying circumstances. We are now as safe as we can be made to be, and we are now home. Be proud of yourselves, for we have accomplished something that no one would have expected of us. All that is left now is to consider our future." The Lady paused, looking over the assembled women.

"During our travels, some of you spoke to me, wanting to know how we were going to fight to regain our lands and titles. We are not going to." She held up a hand to stop the murmurs that arose from the crowd.

"There is no way to take back that which was stolen from us. However, we can protect what we still possess."

"And what is that?" one woman called out, her faced sour, her voice bitter.

"Wealth and power. Those two things we still possess and will continue to do so, unless we foolishly waste them on a fight we cannot win."

"And what if the child Goewin carries is a boy?" the same woman insisted. "He would be the heir to the Dafydd lands and titles. They would be his by right."

"If the child she carries is a boy, and if he survives childhood, then we could use every penny we have, and more besides, to hire fighters to put him in a place in which he would forever be called a pretender. Is that what you want for him? A life spent looking over his shoulder, hoping Malleville doesn't stick a dagger in his back to rid his family of an inconvenient problem? That does not sound like much of a life to me."

"Then what do you propose? What choices do we have?" another woman asked.

"Goewin, Medhir, and Shelagh, come here," the Lady called. Three young women, the oldest no more than eighteen, stood and walked to the Lady. All three were heavily pregnant. "Fate has arranged that these three women should carry the blood of the Dafydd in their wombs at the same time. Goewin, the wife of my grandson, and the Dafydd heir, Medhir, the daughter of my daughter, and Shelagh, the daughter of my son. We are going to leave our future up to the whims of Fate, as she has taken such an interest in our lives. The Prince intended for the name Dafydd to die, and indeed, it shall with this generation. However, whichever of these three first gives birth to a girl, that child shall inherit the name Dafydd from me when I die. She will also inherit my title as Lady of Dafydd, and the power and leadership of this family. Thus shall it be passed from mother to daughter. The child shall grow up with the name of her father, taking the name Dafydd only when the Lady before her dies. The name Dafydd will pass from the minds of men, and from the pages of history, but it shall live on in the title of the Lady."

"And that's it then?" asked the sour-faced woman. "Just leave it up to luck, and then follow a girl-child the rest of our days?"

"No, Olsa, there is another choice, especially for women like yourself who still have family outside this room. I can remove your memories of this place and send you home to your brother to live the rest of your days as a servant in his house, the only role for a widow with no children to support her," the Lady told her briskly.

Goewin walked over to the woman. "Mother, please. Don't do this. You said when you came with me when I married Bryn that you would live the rest of your life as a Dafydd. Don't go back on your word. This is right. Medhir and Shelagh's children have the same blood as my child. All three will be equals, raised here in safety. Don't throw that away." Olsa sat down, still grumbling under her breath but apparently willing to accept the Lady's plan. Goewin turned back to the Lady.

"Though I will admit it is difficult, Lady, to now wish for the child in my belly to be a girl. Until this moment, I have been wanting a boy, to be his father's heir."

The Lady rested a hand on Goewin's hair. "And if it is a boy, you will be able to tell him wonderful stories about his father's bravery, and raise him to be as good a man and leader as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. We will welcome any child born to this house, for a child is a gift and a promise of the future."

XxX

One final time the images shifted and time jumped forward. The Lady was working in the garden behind a stone manor house, using her wand to remove weeds from the orderly lines of plants and flowers. A small girl ran up to her.

"Grandmother, my mother sent me to get you," she said quickly.

"What is it, child?"

"Medhir's child is coming."

The Lady rose quickly and banished the smudges of dirt from her hands and gown. "Tell your aunts, as well, child, and thank you," she said over her shoulder as she strode into the building.

XxX

The women were waiting nervously in the great hall when the cry of a newborn child broke through their low conversations. Almost as one, they turned to the stairs. The Lady appeared, holding a crying bundle in her arms.

"Behold, Ceridwyn Ganieda, the heir of Dafydd!" she cried with exultation. The hall dissolved into cheering and happy tears.

XxX

In her sleep, Ella stirred, her head turning on the pillow. "Dafydd," she murmured in her sleep, then dropped further into dreamless slumber. On the beside table, in among the box of simple necklaces Shelly had picked for her, an uncut irregular stone set in silver and strung on a filigree chain appeared, flashing colors of blue, red, and fiery white in the shifting moonlight.

A/N: All of my information on Welsh history, Manobier Castle, and the names of the Welsh kings comes from the Castles of Britain Website, created by Lise Hull. The geography of Wales and Pembrokeshire came from searching Google with those keywords. I can't give you the actual links, because the printer I used to print my information a year ago doesn't include the web address. I've tried to keep things based on or around actual historical events (if you were wondering). The opening scene of the dream sequence is based on the E Blair Leighton's _Godspeed_, painted in 1900. Hope you enjoyed this section, it is one of the longest chapters in the entire story. The name Malleville was a Norman Baronical family that moved to Scotland in the 11th centuary (think Herman Melville). I thought it was better to use than the one I made up.


	26. Diagon Alley, Corner to Corner

**26. Diagon Alley, Corner to Corner**

The next morning Ella woke up when a damp towel landed on her face.

"Rise and shine sleepyhead," Shelly called. "We need to get going!"

Ella sat up in bed, pulling the towel off her face. "Blech! What happened to waking people up nicely?" she complained.

Shelly grinned. "That _was_ nice. Mean is pulling the covers off and pouring cold water on you. Get dressed, breakfast is almost ready."

Ella slid out of bed and glanced at her watch. Seven in the morning wasn't that early, but she felt muddleheaded, as though she hadn't slept most of the night. She dressed in clothes she hadn't packed in her trunk, brushed her hair back, and poked through the jewelry box Shelly had given her. Her finger caught a filigree chain, and she pulled it out of the box. She held the stone up in the light and watched it flash as it turned in the morning sun.

She wasn't the daughter of a jeweler for nothing. If this wasn't a real diamond, she would eat it for breakfast. She draped the chain over her hand and walked down the hall to confront Shelly. This was too much. Shelly couldn't give her expensive jewelry, and she knew it hadn't been in the pieces she had bought the day before.

"Shelly!" Ella called as she walked into the kitchen. "You left one of your own necklaces in the jewelry box you gave me, and I'm sure you didn't mean to give it away." She held up the necklace, and Shelly took it in wondering hands.

"This isn't mine, Ella—I've never seen it before," she said as she also held it up in the morning sunlight.

"Then where did it come from?" Ella asked impatiently. "I didn't buy it yesterday, and I don't remember it being there last night."

Shelly shrugged her shoulders. "Don't ask me. I think you should wear it today, though; it's perfect with that blouse." She slipped it over Ella's head and let the chain fall around her neck. Ella looked up at Shelly.

"Isn't that a rather cavalier attitude? 'Who knows where this diamond necklace came from, why don't you wear it today'?"

Shelly shook her head. "No, it's just that I know your uncle is fond of giving anonymous gifts. He doesn't like people gushing all over him, so things will just show up. He'll play dumb if you thank him for a gift he supposedly didn't send, so it isn't worth trying. If you like the gift, though, you use it or wear it the very next day, and several times soon thereafter, especially if he's able to see you. That's how he receives his thanks. So, if this is from him, as I suspect it is, you'll wear it today, because it goes perfectly with that blouse. Coffee or tea this morning?"

Ella shook her head and sat down at the table. Things kept changing so quickly; she had no sense of where or when the next surprise would come. She was getting tired of looking foolish and asking "what?" constantly like a demented parrot. She resolved to accept things as they came and to remember that very little was done in the way to which she was accustomed. That resolve was tested almost immediately.

"We should get going if we want to make it to London at a decent hour this morning. The crowds will be something fierce," Shelly announced while Ella polished off her pancakes.

"How are we going to get there?" Ella asked. "Will we drive?"

"Goodness, no!" Shelly exclaimed. "Normally, I just Apparate, but you aren't licensed, and dual Apparation is not a good idea. We would use the Floo, but I think Doctor Arres would have my head if I sent you spinning through the Floo Network."

_Dang! I couldn't make it even two minutes!_ Ella complained internally before asking, "What's the Floo Network?"

"It is a way to travel, using fireplaces. You light a fire, toss in Floo powder, and call your destination. Then you go spinning through the network, and it spits you out on the other side. However, it can be a bumpy trip, and most people don't land very gracefully. I don't want to chance you getting hurt."

"So how do we get to London?" Ella asked. "Magic carpets?"

"Oh, no, those were outlawed years ago. We'll take the train."

"Of course. The train," Ella said with a sigh.

XxX

When they sat down on the train, Shelly pulled out a set of flash cards to help Ella begin to learn to recognize ingredients used in Potions. The car was mostly empty; there was a young woman with two children, a couple businessmen going in late, and a few university students partying away their last week before classes began. Ella slowly worked her way though the cards, matching properties with pictures, and memorizing the uses and usual combinations. They were on the outskirts of town when one more person climbed on the train. He looked to be about twenty, headphones blasting music, a ratty backpack over his shoulder. He looked up at the route map, tracing the distance between stations with a finger, tapping one longer stretch before sitting down in a seat by the door. Two stops later the train traveled over the portion of the track he had been so intrigued by. He stood and pulled a gun from his pocket and received the undivided attention of every passenger.

"Right then, nobody panic. You are all going to hand over your wallets and jewelry to me, and no one will get hurt." He pointed the gun around the train car, holding people paralyzed in their seats.

Next to Ella, Shelly began to act strangely. She started to breathe quickly, almost hyperventilating, and clutched Ella's arm. The man noticed and pointed the gun at them.

"You there!" he said to Shelly. "Get up. You're going to take my bag around to everyone and they are going to give you their things to put in the bag. No funny business, you understand?"

Shelly was visibly shaking, and she nodded franticly. "Yes, just please, don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me," she begged.

The man pulled her up by the arm and shoved his backpack into her hands. "You don't try anything, and you don't get hurt," he promised threateningly.

Shelly took the bag to the end of the train and slowly collected rings, wallets, earrings, money clips, and necklaces. When she reached Ella, she took the diamond necklace, but the ring wouldn't slide off Ella's finger. Shelly turned to the man in fear.

"I can't get it off her. It's stuck. I tried, I really did."

The man grabbed Ella's hand and tried to twist the ring off himself. Ella cried out in pain, but it was the arrival of the next train station that stopped him. He grabbed the bag from Shelly, and pointed his gun around the train again.

"No one gets off here," he demanded, then jumped through the doors and took off at a run.

There was a breath of relief when the doors closed and he was gone. The mother turned to comfort her crying children, and Shelly turned from her frozen post by the door. She walked over to Ella and took her hand.

"I'm sorry about your hand. Does it hurt much?" Her voice was perfectly normal.

Ella shook her head. "Not any more," she reassured Shelly.

"Will this make you feel better?" Shelly asked, and suddenly Ella's necklace dangled from her hand.

"How did you do that?" Ella asked.

Shelly laughed and began walking through the car, returning everything that had supposedly been stolen by the thief.

"I grew up as the child of street performers in London. We did a little acting, some sleight-of-hand, things like that. I figured he was going to make someone collect the wallets, so I gave him a hysterical frightened woman to choose. The beauty is that his bag already had things in it, so I didn't even have to steal ballast from everyone to weight it down."

The people in the car cheered, and the rest of the ride into London, Shelly was pressed to show off her old skills, making coins and cards disappear and reappear, or seem to transform into other objects. When they got off the train, Ella leaned close to Shelly to whisper to her.

"Did you really use sleight-of-hand, or was it magic?"

Shelly laid her arm across Ella's shoulders. "We aren't allowed to do magic in front of Muggles, Ella. I really did grow up as a street performer, and I'll tell you, it took me a while to really believe that magic wasn't the stagecraft my family practiced. Sometimes I think my family doesn't believe what I can really do, either."

XxX

They walked down a busy London street, and Shelly led Ella through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was bustling, with every table filled. No one turned to greet them, except the bartender, Tom, whom Shelly declared to be "good people." To Ella's surprise, Shelly led her into the back alley behind the pub.

"Watch carefully," Shelly warned her. "The trick is to hit the right bricks in the correct order." She touched three bricks spaced around the wall and stood back for the stones to rearrange themselves. Ella's eyes opened wide, and she watched with wonder at the world that appeared before her.

Shelly caught her hand and turned to face her. "Ella, before we go in, you need to know that Diagon Alley prides itself on being the most wizarding street in England. There's a lot of strange things you're going to see. Stay close to me, and remember that most of the wizarding world is not this strange." She let go of Ella's hand but turned back suddenly. "One more thing. If you see signs for another alley, one named Knockturn, turn and go the other direction. Knockturn Alley is a very disreputable place, and nothing you need will be in a shop down there. Do you understand?"

Ella nodded, though she really didn't. "Where to first?" she asked Shelly as they passed under the arched entrance to the street.

"The bank. Some of the things we took for you need to be appraised, and you need to sign for your account. Then it will be off to the wand shop, the book store, and we can take a look at some of the animals, if you'd like to take one to school with you."

Ella nodded. The list did not sound too daunting, and she was looking forward to exploring the most magical street in England. They made their way though the crowd, dodging children, avoiding vendors, and working their way around window shoppers. The sign above the white marble pillars caught Ella's eye.  
"Gringott's," she read aloud, "Is that the bank?"

"Yes," Shelly told her. "One word of advice: Don't stare at the tellers; they consider it rude."

"So would anyone. Why would I want to stare?" Ella's question was answered for her when they walked through the front doors. The strange creatures counting money and leading people around the building surprised her, not because she had never seen anything like them, but because she had.

"The goblins of Gringott's have been serving as treasure keepers and money lenders since A.D. 1093," Shelly told Ella in a low voice. "There are no better guardians for valuables in the world, and we are lucky they are willing to work with the wizarding world, considering how most people treat them."

They got in the queue that led to the tellers, and Ella felt free to stare at the inlaid flooring and the variegated marble pillars that decorated the inside of the bank. They slowly worked their way to the front of the line, where a goblin called them up with an impatient "Next!"

Ella followed Shelly to the window and waited quietly while Shelly produced the documents for Ella's vault and handed them over to the goblin. He looked them over with indifference at first, but something caught his eye, and he flipped through the papers, looked intently at Ella, then went through the papers with more care. He stamped an official seal on the last page and handed a quill pen to Ella to sign the papers.

Ella took the pen but held it helplessly. "My hand is injured, and I can't sign," she told the goblin quietly.

"It doesn't have to be a nice signature, just draw an 'X' or a line, so we can verify you are who you say you are," the goblin replied, his manner showing much more patience than before. Ella shrugged and made a sloppy line on the paper. When she finished, he waved over another goblin.

"Shamgar, why don't you take Miss Dafydd and her companion to the parlor while we make certain things are in order," the teller commanded. Shamgar bowed to Ella and Shelly and led them to a comfortable room, where they were invited to sit in wingback chairs and offered tea.

Ella followed as though she had expected nothing different, though the look on Shelly's face made it hard to keep up the charade. Obviously this was not how clients at Gringott's were usually treated.

They waited only long enough to sip at their tea, when the door opened and a well-dressed goblin entered, carrying a jewel case.

"I am Ringott, the twelfth manager of Gringott's bank. I understand that we have been asked to appraise these jewels for you, Miss Dafydd?" He laid the case on a handy table.

"Yes," Shelly answered, before Ella could formulate a reply. "These were obtained without an appraisal or receipt of value, and we wanted to be certain that they were of high quality. What have you decided?"

Ringott snapped the case open and turned it so that Ella could see the collection of gems inside. "For cut stones, these are of exceptional quality. There are, unfortunately, a few whose cuts were made for aesthetics, rather than for the clarity of the stone, but those are the minority. You have easily fifty thousand Galleons in stones here. Because so many of them are already cut as a matching set, I would recommend keeping or selling them as such because it increases their resale value. We will place a note of appraisal in your vault with the value and our recommendations. Is there anything else?"

Shelly leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I'm sure Ella would like to see her vault."

The goblin bowed. "Of course. If the ladies would follow me?"

Ringott led them to a series of cars set on a winding track. He helped Ella and Shelly into the car, then called out, "Vault 1077." The car took off like a shot, sending them whirling around turns, up and down hills, and through several darkened tunnels. It came to a stop in front of a metal door, which Ringott unlocked with a small gold key. He handed it to Ella when the door swung open.

"This is the key to this vault. If it is lost, Gringott's will re-key the door and replace the key, for the fee on one Galleon." Ella took the key and placed it carefully in her pocket. Her jaw dropped at the stacks of gold coins and collection of jewelry and weaponry displayed against the walls inside the vault.

"This is all mine?" she asked Shelly in disbelief. There was a strangled cough from the goblin behind them, but when Ella turned to Ringott, he shook his head and didn't say a word. Ella looked around a bit more, filled a bag with coins, and exited the vault, pulling the door closed behind her.

"So, what now? Do we go back up to the surface?" Ella asked the goblin. He turned so quickly he almost stumbled over the edge of the track. Catching himself on the edge of the car, he looked at her in surprise.

"Don't you want to inspect your other vault?" he asked in an injured tone.

Ella looked at Shelly who shrugged. "My other vault?" she asked Ringott. "I have another vault?"

"Of course you do," the goblin said impatiently. "Do you wish to inspect it?"

Ella nodded and sat in the cart. "Yes, I certainly do," she said. _Humor the crazy goblin,_ she thought to herself._ He is the only one who can drive us back up to the surface._ Ringott also climbed into the cart, and it set off without a word.

This time the ride descended deeper and deeper into the earth, the twists and turns leading ever down. Ella caught glimpses of other vault doors, a flame that flared briefly, and twice they shot past other carts on their way to other owners' vaults. Finally they slowed and rolled to a stop. This door was no metal vault door. It was set with stones, and the archway it hung from was intricately carved. There was no visible keyhole, either. Of course, that didn't matter to Ella because she didn't have a key of any sort for this door. The goblin exited the car and offered a hand to Ella.

"If you would care to unlock the door?" he asked her quietly.

"Where is the key?" Ella asked.

Ringott shook his head. "There is no key to this door. If you are who you claim to be, your hand will open the door. If you are not, the door will remain locked."

Ella gave him a bemused look and walked up to the gem-encrusted door. She placed her hand flat on the door, and to her wonder, it opened silently. As the lights came up, her jaw dropped, and she froze in place. Shelly came up from the cart to see what the matter was.

"Ella? What's going…" Her voice trailed off as her jaw also dropped.

The inside of the vault was enormous. Not only that, but it was full of gold, furniture, clothing, artwork, and jewelry of every manner, from crowns to rings and everything in between. Ella slowly walked forward to examine a painting she was certain she had seen in a history book. She almost walked past the gown displayed on a dress form, but the color caught her eye. It was a creamy gold, with a small repeated pattern in deeper gold woven through. She knew this dress; it was the Lady's. She turned to face Ringott, who was waiting by the door.

"You are still safeguarding the treasure of the Lady," she said quietly. "And I see you are keeping it well. I thank you for your vigilance."

She caressed the sleeve of the gown, which had been preserved for a thousand years in this underground treasure room. Her eyes strayed sideways to the jewelry that was on display, and she could not resist picking up a heavy gold crown inlayed with pearls and trying it on. She turned to face Shelly.

"What do you think?" she asked her godmother.

Shelly shook herself from her shocked trance and grinned at Ella. "Very nice. Not really appropriate for daywear, but it compliments your coloring nicely." Both women burst into laughter. It was the only response they could give to the incredible display that lay before them. Ella took off the crown and laid it gently back on the stand. She walked back over to the door and looked at Ringott. The goblin looked up the short distance he needed to meet her eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do to help keep the affairs in order?" Ella asked him.

"Not right now, My Lady," he answered, "Though we will send you reports and requests for your approval, now that you are here."

"Very well," Ella approved. She gently closed the door of the treasure vault and climbed back into the cart. Shelly followed, and soon they were making their way back up to the surface of London. When they exited the bank, Shelly kept giving Ella bemused glances, but whenever Ella looked at her questioningly, she shook her head.

XxX

The silence lasted up to the door of Olivander's Wand Shop. The bell that sounded deep in the shop seemed to break the spell they were under. Mr. Olivander was assisting another girl while her mother looked on, so Ella sat down on a stool by the wall to observe.

There was a stack of narrow boxes sitting on the counter next to the girl. As Ella watched, she took a wand from Mr. Olivander and waved it in the air. Nothing happened.

"No, not that one either," Mr. Olivander said. He set the wand back in the box and added it to the pile of rejects on the counter. He looked at the wands that hadn't worked for the girl, looked at a piece of paper with numbers written on it, and narrowed his eyes.

"Tell me, Miss Zellin," Mr. Olivander said musingly, "Do you consider yourself a stubborn person?" The girl looked up at her mother when the lady disguised a laugh behind a cough.

"Stubborn is one way of putting it," the lady said with a smile. The girl rolled her eyes and nodded slightly.

"Ah! There is our difficulty. Your physical size and measurements suggested the more malleable woods, but of course they would not work for a stubborn personality. Wait here." Mr. Olivander scooped the boxes off the counter and disappeared into the high shelving. He came back with several dark boxes and placed them on the counter.

"Oak, ironwood, apple wood, and cherry," he said, pointing to each box in turn. "All containing a unicorn hair core. If I am right, one of these will do the trick."

The girl took out the wands one at a time and waved them. When she took the apple wood wand, there was a change in air pressure in the room, and a stream of silver sparks danced out of the top of the wand. She smiled with relief when she handed the wand to Mr. Olivander.

"Ten and three quarter inches, apple wood and unicorn hair. Very useful for transfiguration. This is your wand, Miss Zellin, and I trust you will take very good care of it." The girl nodded happily, and Mr. Olivander boxed the wand and handed it to her.

"That will be five Galleons," he told the girl's mother. She sighed as she took out the gold pieces.

"Pricey as always, Olivander, but there is no better place to get a wand. Thank you for your patience." He bowed slightly to the lady and the girl as they left the shop, then turned to Ella and Shelly.

"Shelly Murray, still the record holder for the number of wands I needed to try to match one to you. How is that peculiar combination holding up for you?"

Shelly laughed and placed her wand on the counter. Olivander picked it up and peered at it closely.

"Nine and one half inches, made of beech wood, with a phoenix feather core. Seemingly weak, yet long-lasting and strong, with a core that changes with the needs of the owner. Now that I know you, it's a perfect fit, but when you were the tricky child standing in front of my counter, I would have never guessed your innocent face would hide such contradictions," Olivander said fondly.

"I see you still remember not only every wand you sell but the embarrassing stories that go along with them," Shelly said ruefully. She turned to Ella, "Here I was, a Muggle street performer and magician, trying to get a magic wand. I must have had a stack of boxes four feet high before we found that wand. There was quite a crowd gathered by the time I finished, as well, so my instincts took over and I started pulling all sorts of things out of my pockets looking for my money, 'lost' the wand three times before reaching the door, and ran like hell once I reached the street. My boss still gives me a hard time, because he saw me that day. I don't think I'll ever live it down."

Ella laughed at the thought of a small Shelly performing Muggle magic tricks for a crowd of wizards. Olivander turned his attention to her.

"Who is this charming girl?" he asked Shelly. "You certainly aren't old enough for her to be your daughter."

"Thank you, sir, for the compliment, though my mother doesn't agree," Shelly told him with a grin. "This is my goddaughter, Ella Dafydd, and she needs her first wand for Hogwarts."

A strange look came over Olivander's face, and he extended his hand to Ella. She placed her right hand in his, and he turned it to see her ring. He tapped it gently and said, "Here is something else I will never forget. The first time I saw this ring, it was on the hand of a girl not much older than you. I had been commissioned to make a wand for the young bride of a Welsh nobleman's son. I was a little surprised, as back then, most women were given wands that were made out of pine or willow, very short, and with very weak cores; only enough to focus their magic, nothing they could really use. But this nobleman asked me to make her a true wand, like the ones that were made for men.

"Her hand was so delicate in mine, when I measured it, and her wedding band kept catching my gaze. Her wand was unique, as well—rowan wood reacted best to her, traditionally a male wood; not only that, but the rowan tree it came from sat at the heart of the nobleman's land. The core was a rare Griffin feather, which came from the family's own collection, as their crest was a rampant griffin. Oh, that girl was proud of her wand, and rightly so, as it marked her as a true bride of the family. That wand served her well her entire life, as a true wand should. Wait here, my dear," he told Ella, "I'll go get your wand." He walked into the shadows of the shelves, and Ella turned to Shelly, completely mystified. Shelly shrugged her shoulders in confusion, as well.

Olivander returned, carrying a wooden box with silver scrollwork. He placed it on the counter and opened it. Inside lay a pale wand on a velvet cushion. Ella looked from the wand back to Olivander.

"Aren't you going to tell me about the wand, Mr. Olivander?" she asked in confusion.

"I just did, Miss Dafydd," he replied. "Go on, pick it up and see how it works for you."

Ella reached in with her right hand and picked up the wand. She placed it into her left hand and slowly forced her stiff fingers to curl around the slender wood. She wasn't able to truly hold the wand; it rested on top of her palm with her fingers hovering in the air above it. She looked up at Shelly, who turned to Olivander.

"Will it work to test it in her off hand? Ella was in an accident, and her wand hand was injured."

Olivander gently slipped the wand from Ella's left hand, and placed it back into her right hand. "It may not feel comfortable, but a true wand will work if held in the wrong hand, between the feet, or even in the mouth, if one can annunciate around a stick of wood," he assured them. Ella copied the girl who had been in the shop and waved the wand in the air with a little flick.

The wand grew warm in her hand and a stream of light flew from the end and twisted around her, leaving a delicate scent and a distant chime in its wake.

"Wow, I would say it is certainly your wand, Ella," Shelly said. "How much does this one cost, Olivander? It obviously isn't your normal work."

"You owe me nothing more than five Sickles for the servicing and storage for the last twenty years," Olivander said quietly. "It wouldn't be right for me to charge for a wand that I've long since been paid for making."

Shelly's eyes narrowed as she fished out the required coins. Ella placed the wand reverently back in the box and slipped it under her arm. She walked out the door, but Shelly stayed back for a moment to give Olivander a piecing look.

"You're hiding something about that wand, old man, and I'll find out what it is. For one thing, I know that it has been more than eight hundred years since women weren't given true wands."

Olivander's reply was very mild. "I'm glad to see you paid attention to your history class, Madame Murray. You might want to hurry with the rest of your purchases. I've heard rumors that the weather might change on Diagon Alley this afternoon, and people would be well warned to be under cover before that happens." He turned a disappeared one last time into the shadows of his store.

XxX

Shelly caught up with Ella, and they went over to Flourish and Blots to get her schoolbooks. Most of the list Shelly was familiar with, having used many of them herself while at Hogwarts. The one item they had trouble with was the history collection. Shelly led Ella over to the man standing behind the counter.

"May I help you?" the man asked, putting down his newspaper.

"Where do I find all these books by T. Rogers?" Shelly asked, pointing to the six books on Ella's list. The man sighed and came out from behind the counter.

"We put them out on display over here, since every Hogwarts student is getting a pile of them," he said.

"Why in the world is Professor Binns changing his textbook?" Shelly asked, turning over one of the books in her hands.

"It isn't him that ordered them. There's somebody else teaching history at Hogwarts for the next seven years. That professor picked these books. The recommendation is that the younger students get the complete anthology, if they can afford it." He pointed to a slim book with a beautiful leather cover. "First year students will end up buying almost all of the books anyway, and this puts them all in one place." He flipped open the cover to show the extensive index inside. "The expandable book is expensive, though, and we do have some used copies of the single volumes in discounted bundles for a more economical purchase." He closed the book and left Ella and Shelly to consider their options.

"It isn't as though cost is a real consideration, is it?" Ella asked her godmother.

"No, and if you're going to have to buy all of these, you might as well save space. The nice thing is, if the author writes anything more, this copy will add it to the index, so you won't have to buy updated editions. That's why it costs so much." She flipped through the pages, and Ella watched amazed at the fanning pages continued on much farther past the apparent thickness of the cover.

"I want that one, just because it looks cool," Ella told Shelly. "There's something I really like about a cool-looking leather book."

Shelly looked down at Ella and laughed. "Whatever you say, my dear, whatever you say."

They paid for the books, including the very expensive "Concerning Magic: The Complete Writings of T. Rogers." They stepped back out on the street and Shelly stopped short.

"Ella," she said in an odd-sounding voice, "Why don't you go into the pet store there, and talk to the owner, to see if there's an owl or cat you'd like to take to Hogwarts with you."

Ella looked up at Shelly, wondering what had caused her strange behavior. When she didn't move from her place, Shelly said again, "Ella, go inside."

Ella looked down the street and saw a line of people in black robes and silvery masks advancing slowly. Everywhere along Diagon Alley people were stopping, the bustling and noise dying out as people realized that something was happening. The line of wizards continued to advance towards the frozen crowd, the people too frightened to do anything, until Shelly pushed Ella towards the nearest shop and shouted.

"Run!"

The crows burst into chaos and confusion; people were screaming, children running to get under cover, and wizards and witches were appearing and disappearing rapidly, filling the street with innumerable _cracks_.

Ella hurried as quickly as she could into the nearest shop. The bell over the door chimed cheerfully, an incongruous noise with the screaming on the street. Three children followed her in: a boy in his early teens, a girl about her age, and a younger boy, little more than a toddler. The owner of the shop came out of the back and beckoned for them all to follow him.

"Hurry, children. It'll be safer to be out of sight. Come sit in the back with me."

He waved his wand, and his front windows darkened, as though he had pulled a set of dark curtains across them. He then locked the door and made shooing motions to the children.

"Go on, go on. We don't want to be out here if there's going to be trouble."

Ella followed the girl while the boy tried to hush the toddler, who had begun to sniffle and ask for his mother.

The man led them to a back room with a table and a set of chairs. The older boy distracted the toddler with a biscuit, and Ella glanced around the room. From what she could see, this was a very odd sort of pet shop. For one thing, there were no cages. Owls sat on perches placed around the room, while cats roamed freely or lounged on stuffed cushions. A few toads croaked in a mossy box, and several bats hung upside-down in a dark corner. The man sat down across the table from Ella and smiled at all four children.

"Don't worry too much. The Aurors will be here faster than you can say 'Bob's your uncle' and they'll chase off the nasties. We'll just have a bit of a sit-down and wait for the all-clear. Now, Dominick," he addressed the older boy, "how is that owl working out for you?"

"Very wel,l Mr. Cromwell," Dominick answered. "Actually, we were going to stop by here anyway for Vivianne to pick an owl or cat for herself. She starts Hogwarts this year." The girl blushed and ducked her head.

"Are they still limiting the choices for familiars then?" Mr. Cromwell asked.

"Yes. Cats, toads, and owls are all we can bring," Dominick replied.

"Pity. Some people just don't bond well with that selection. I had a chap in here a week ago, and we found his best rapport was with a rare fish I had been holding onto for months. You never know what will show up as a witch or wizard's familiar." Mr. Cromwell sighed in disappointment. His face brightened as he turned to Vivianne. "I'll climb off my soap box, though, to help you find your first familiar. Which would you like: cat, toad, or owl?"

"No toads, Mr. Cromwell. They're out of style right now, and she'd be given no end of grief if she went with a toad," Dominick interjected.

"And what if your small sister finds she has an aptitude in Potions?" Mr. Cromwell asked. "No self-respecting Potions student should be without a toad. No better test subject exists than toads."

Vivianne smiled shyly. "I don't know that I'm going to be that good in Potions, sir, but I do know that I get along well with cats, and I think I'd like to look at the ones you have."

Mr. Cromwell shook his head. "In this shop, my dear, you don't pick your familiar. They pick you. That way, you get along well from the start. You sit here, and I'll get you some treats. The kitties will find you fast enough." He went over to a row of drawers, pulled out a handful of cat treats, and dropped them into Vivianne's lap.

Mr. Cromwell had been right. It wasn't two minutes before cats began sauntering towards the girl. They gathered at her feet, looking intently up at her. One striped cat jumped up onto her lap and began to purr loudly while it rubbed its face against hers.

"There you are then! One cat, one carrying case, two Galleons. Quite a bargain if you ask me," Mr. Cromwell proclaimed, placing a wicker carrying case next to Vivianne.

"Dominick, did Mum give you money?" Vivianne asked her brother.

"Yeah, she did. Here you go, Mr. Cromwell." Dominick handed over two gold coins.

Ella started when a paw batted at her ear. She turned to find a small ginger cat with delicate markings and one foot with white toes sitting on the counter behind her. It reached out again and batted her nose before walking down the length of the counter. Halfway down, it slipped and stumbled slightly. Looking back over its shoulder the cat gave a look that said, "I _meant_ to do that." Ella giggled softly at the antics of the cat, and it turned and walked back down to her and climbed over her head, down her shoulder, slid down her arm, and ended up in her lap in a boneless heap. It turned and began washing its back.

"Make yourself at home," Ella told the cat. It looked up at her and gave a satisfied, "_Meh_," and went back to its ablutions.

The five sat companionably around the table until the all-clear sounded from the street about ten minutes later.

There was a pounding on the door, and Shelly's voice called into the shop. "Are you in there? It's safe to come out now."

Mr. Cromwell led the way back to the front of his shop, where he checked carefully before lifting the spells that covered his windows. There was a general complaint and shifting from the animals when the light once again streamed through the windows to flood the room. He unlocked the door and let Shelly come inside. Dominick checked the street and left with his brother and sister. Vivianne called back to Ella, "See you at Hogwarts!" as they walked out. Ella waved back with her bad hand, as her good one was busy holding the cat, who had refused to be put down when Ella had stood. It had scrambled up her arm and draped itself around her shoulders. Shelly pushed her hair back out of her face and leaned against the front counter.

"What happened?" Mr. Cromwell asked.

"We don't know if the Death Eaters meant to attack, or just to threaten. Enough Aurors and like-minded people stood their ground that they choose to leave rather than face that many defenders. They're getting bolder, though, if they're even willing to show up on a public street like this in the middle of the day. It'll be open warfare again before long, mark my words. I just hope things can hold off until the kids are back in school. That puts a significant part of our population out of reach," Shelly said wearily.

"And if the schools are attacked?" Mr. Cromwell asked quietly. "That places a significant part of out population at risk; has the ministry considered that?"

"This summer, every school of magic has been turned into a stronghold with bolt-holes, escape routes, and extra defenses. I think it's more likely that the schools will end up as refuges should things go badly in the war." She turned to Ella then and asked, "Who's your little friend there? Did you choose it as your familiar?"

Ella shrugged, "It chose me really." She turned to Mr. Cromwell. "Is this one available for purchase?"

Mr. Cromwell gently lifted the cat from Ella's shoulders. "This little one is a special situation. You see, she's not a true cat. She's a kifflin, and as such, I can't sell her, only the things required to take care of her. If you're interested, we can see if her mother will let her go to you."

"And what, exactly, is a kifflin?" Ella asked Mr. Cromwell.

"They're a rare breed of modified cats, originally from Wales. As to their modifications, well, they're easier to see than explain." He gave a low whistle, and a larger cat ran into the room and jumped up on the front counter.

"Aleda," Mr. Cromwell said to the cat, "this girl would like to be considered for the little one." The cat cocked her head to the side and considered Ella, who was standing several feet away. She gathered herself on the edge of the counter and jumped. Ella let out a cry of surprise when a pair of wings unfolded from the cat's sides and she flew in a circle around Ella and back to the counter. Once there, she licked the younger cat's face several times, then nudged her towards Mr. Cromwell.

"It looks like you pass," he told Ella. "As such, the little one is yours. You can purchase a specialized carrying case from me, along with literature about kifflins, and a supplement you'll need to add to her food for the first year to help her develop her flying abilities."

Ella swallowed her surprise and asked, "She can fly? How far? Can she carry anything?"

Mr. Cromwell smiled. "Right now, she can't do more than glide a few feet. But once she reaches her full size, she'll be able to carry messages and packages the same as an owl." He lifted the kifflin and extended her paw towards Ella. "Do you see how flexible her toes are? She'll be able to grasp things and lift them. Kifflins were designed as distinctive messengers. That they look and act like cats when their wings are folded is a nice benefit." He offered the small cat to Ella. "Do you want her?"

Ella stroked the kifflin. Now that she knew they were there, she could feel the edges of her wings as they lay folded against her sides. The cat started to purr in contentment. Ella turned to Shelly.

"Will I be allowed to have her at Hogwarts? She isn't a cat, or an owl."

Mr. Cromwell answered her. "She's classified as a cat, and Hogwarts has allowed others in the past. You won't have a problem."

Ella paid for the kifflin's things, and Shelly took the carrying case and the bag that held the book and medicine. When they left, Shelly quickly steered Ella back to the Leaky Cauldron and out into Muggle London.

"No offense, Ella, but I think I better get you home before someone comes up and claims you are the heir to some ancient Wizarding family and are under a prophecy to help defeat the enemies of the Wizarding world."

Ella laughed at Shelly's comment, but on the train ride back to Bath, she had to wonder about the events of the day. There was something more going on, but she just didn't know whom to ask. When they reached the house, Shelly left quickly, saying she needed to run to her office for a short time. Ella settled down in a comfortable chair, reading her new books and petting the cat curled up in her lap.

XxX

A/N: so it's a little fluffy... I admit it. But at least it's a good length! Please let me know what you think of the story thus far.


	27. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

**27. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch**

Severus Snape could not think of anything he hated more than laying in the Hospital Ward. Well, actually, he hated getting hurt enough that he ended up laying in the Hospital Ward more, but that wasn't the point. He was trapped in a bed, wearing nothing but a pair pajamas, under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey. He felt defenseless, and that was a feeling he avoided at all costs. He'd spent the previous day obeying Madame Pomfrey, but he intended to make his escape today. He tested the dexterity of his hands and was pleased to find that this morning he could touch his thumb to every finger, as well as opening and closing his hands. There still was not much power, but he would be able to manage.

Taking a deep breath, Snape levered himself up to a seated position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. That step completed, he stiffly turned his body to look for his wand. Madame Pomfrey hid it in a different place every time he landed in the Hospital Ward, but it was always close to his bed. He held out his left hand and called in a quiet, yet commanding voice, "_Accio wand_!"

His wand zipped from under the bed to his hand, trailing strips of Spellotape that had secured it to the frame. Snape shook his head ruefully and stood up. He cautiously made his way through the hospital ward to the door. He leaned a hand on the doorframe and tapped his wand in a complicated pattern. When he opened the door, it led into his Potions classroom rather than the usual second floor hallway. When he went through, he closed the door and tapped another rhythm on the door, releasing the connection. This was the reason he taught with his classroom door closed, though most students never knew it. If there was an accident in the potions classroom that was bad enough to need immediate medical attention, he could transport them straight, rather than winding his way through the corridors.

Snape walked though the classroom to the passageway that led first to his office, then to his private rooms. Once there, he gratefully shed his pajamas for robes and checked his calendar to see what he had missed in the last few days. Thankfully, the first full staff meeting was scheduled for later that day. He hadn't missed anything important, just the back-to-school faculty dinner that Dumbledore insisted on each year. He ordered lunch from a house elf and ate while catching up on notices from Dumbledore and McGonagall regarding the coming school year. One in particular caught his attention. It was a red-bordered parchment, which meant high importance. The memo informed all of the teachers that a first year student, one Ella Dafydd, was arriving at Hogwarts with medical limitations. She was permitted the use of a Dicto-Quill for the first month of school, was excused from flying lessons until medically cleared, and most importantly, she was not to have any spells cast at or on her and was not to test any potions until 1 October. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey had all signed the memo. Snape signed on the empty line at the bottom to show he had read and understood the restrictions. The border turned from red to blue when the ink dried, and Snape knew that McGonagall's copy would show his signature with those of all the other professors who had read and signed their own copies. He was glad that the memo made no mention of Ella's relationship to him, and he knew that Dumbledore had agreed with his request to keep that fact a secret for Ella's safety.

At two o'clock precisely, Snape entered the faculty wardroom. He sat in his usual chair at the end of the table, where he could watch the door, fireplace, and window for listeners. He was arranging his papers and quills when a shadow crossed his parchment. He looked up to see McGonagall standing a few feet away. She walked the rest of the way over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I am glad to have you back with us, Severus," she said in a low voice. "I was worried when you didn't arrive for the Heads of House meeting, and then Albus told us you had been injured and we would have to reschedule for a later date, and I thought… well anyway, it's good to have to back."

"Thank you, Minerva," Severus replied. "How are you, by the way? All recovered?"

"Yes, thank you. Though I am afraid I'll be feeling my years for some time yet. Poppy assures me that I'll have my old energy back eventually." McGonagall walked to her chair at the center of the curved table and sat. Snape surveyed the rest of the room. Professors were trickling in, talking as they found seats. There was a woman he did not recognize, and he wondered if this was the next DADA teacher. _And what will she turn out to be? We've had a traitor, a fake, a werewolf, a Death Eater, and a ministry spy. What now? Another magical creature, some other incompetent, or God forbid, someone who knows what they're doing?_ Dumbledore's arrival interrupted his musings, and the meeting began.

XxX

"I would like to welcome you all back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore began. "This should be an interesting year. First, let me begin with some introductions. Many of you had the opportunity to meet Professor Tanya Rogers last night at dinner, but for the rest of you, Tanya is going to be our History of Magic professor for the next seven years or so. Professor Binns has decided to take a sabbatical and catch up on some events that have become history in the past fifty years. I hope you will all welcome Professor Rogers and make her feel at home."

The attractive blonde woman stood and nodded to the assembled professors.

"I haven't been to Hogwarts since my research for _Hogwarts, a History_, and I'm very interested in seeing the school when it is filled with people, rather than echoing with summer emptiness." Her words carried a trace of an accent that Snape placed as coming from Australia or New Zealand. Rogers continued, "Also, if you see my familiar scurrying around the school, please do not conjure up a large shoe or flyswatter and try to squish him. It tends to make him testy." She sat back down in her chair.

"Our other new professor will not be joining us until the students arrive, due to other obligations," Dumbledore said.

Sinistra spoke up before Snape could. "And who will we be enduring this year in the Defense position?"

Dumbledore chuckled quietly. "I would like to remind you that the last two were not my fault. The true Alastor Moody would have been an excellent teacher, and Dolores Umbridge was not appointed by me. This year, I have overruled the Ministry, the Board of Governors, and anyone else who tried to _suggest_ the perfect Defense teacher, and I followed my own council. Our new defense teacher is Alexi Mithrandir. He's an Auror for the Russian Ministry, and has a superb recommendation from the Russian President, and from my good friend, the Headmaster of the Russian State School of Magic. He is currently on an assignment, which is scheduled to end two days from now, and he will have to then make his way here from his station near Siberia. When he does arrive, I assure you that he will be closely inspected to ensure that he is who he claims to be. He knows of this and has agreed to any measures we deem necessary."

Snape felt the eyes of the other professors on him, waiting for his usual claim that he could teach DADA better than the selected professor. He let a smirk cross his face. They would be disappointed this year, as he had no argument with Dumbledore's assessment of Mithrandir. He looked up and saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkling madly.

"I'm glad to see you've finally taken my recommendation, old man," he said with a smirk. "I told you fifteen years ago to hire Mithrandir. He is very skilled at what he does, and he also has the ability to create new spells. He's had at least three of his spells incorporated into standard books of spells in the last eight years." He looked around at the shocked faces of his colleagues. Mentally, he counted down until someone raised a concern. He had reached three when Vector raised a hand to speak.

"Albus, are we certain of this man's loyalties? The last thing we need is another informant or active servant of anyone who's trying to come into power."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Well, then I think we should ask our own informant, shouldn't we? Severus, has Alexi Mithrandir been approached to enter service for Voldemort?" Several staff members flinched at both the name and at the fact that Snape had just been identified as an informant. Snape raised an eyebrow of his own.

"I'm sure he _has_ been approached many times, by many different power-seekers. However, Mithrandir is too fully committed to the side of conscience to serve anyone like that. It's also very likely why his own government is allowing him leave to teach here—he won't obey them if he feels their orders are unjust. They keep him around because he's skilled, but most government leaders prefer their enforcement operatives to think a little less and serve with blind loyalty instead. So long as we get the true Mithrandir, and I know Albus will be certain of _that_, you will have nothing to be afraid of. He was raised with a very strict moral and ethical code, and he still holds to both." Snape sat back in his chair, finished with his speech for now.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement and took the floor again. "This leads us to the second and third matters that need to be addressed. You all must be aware that the wizarding world is at war. The defenses around Hogwarts have been increased, and no students will be allowed to leave once they arrive, other than to return home for holidays, and even that will be discouraged." He sighed, and his face turned grave. "We also need to know if there are any traitors in our midst. When the students return, they will all be interviewed and inspected to see if any have entered service to Voldemort."

Sprout interrupted him with a snort. "You mean if any Slytherins have entered service. I don't see why the rest of us have to worry."

Snape slammed his hands on the table to stand and berate Sprout, but Sinistra beat him to the punch again.

"You don't see why the rest of you have to worry?" she asked incredulously. "Are you blind, or just stupid, Pomona? Do the names Antonin Dolohov, Barty Crouch Jr., and Peter Pettigrew mean nothing to you?"

Sprout huffed, "What do they have to do with this conversation?"

Snape stared at Sprout, then glanced around the table. There were several other teachers who looked as confused as she did. Could they truly not know?

"Antonin Dolohov was a Ravenclaw. He also has developed a new curse that can be cast without speaking, which nearly killed Miss Granger this past year. Barty Crouch, Jr., was a Hufflepuff under you, and the person who trapped Moody and impersonated him for a year. Peter Pettigrew was a Griffendor and the person who provided the final component to bring the Dark Lord back to life. They are all Death Eaters, and they are not the only ones to have come from houses other than Slytherin. Though I will not deny that my house has provided many Death Eaters to the Dark Lord's ranks, it is not the only one." Snape turned to Dumbledore and said, "That there are professors at the table who think their houses are exempt from recruitment to service worries me, Albus. How are we to defend the school if they're only looking for danger from the graduates of one House?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "This is what the Sorting Hat was warning us about. Placing the children into the Houses is tradition here, but it has led to prejudices and blindness."

Sinistra was still standing, glaring at Sprout. She closed her eyes and bowed her head with a broken sigh. Looking up at the other professors, she said quietly, "My friends, you cannot assume that every child in Slytherin is going to turn into a Death Eater. Such an assumption causes you to treat every infraction with greater severity and makes you think the worst of every situation. We will never know how many children decide that they might as well become criminals, users of Dark Arts, or Death Eaters, simply because they are expected to. We have these children under our influence for seven years—seven of the most critical years of their lives, when they develop into adulthood. Shouldn't that count for something? Yet you write some children off, simply because of the House they're Sorted into, or the House they convince the Sorting Hat to place them in, and other children we think can do no wrong because of their house. Yet I have to wonder, what if the Houses were gone, or if they stood for something else? Would you have the same expectations? Or would you give them all an equal chance?"

"Bronwyn, why are you so worked up about this? You never seemed to care before," Vector said quietly into the silence that reigned after Sinistra's passionate speech.

"Because my son is dead because of expectations like yours!" Sinistra cried out. "How can children who are told their entire lives that they are going to be Dark Wizards and Witches do any less than what is expected of them!" She collapsed back into her chair, her hands over her face as she fought for control. Silence reigned in the room once again.

Rogers raised her hand slightly, and Dumbledore nodded at her to speak. "Maybe it's just because I'm an outsider, but it seems like you've gotten too segregated in your Houses. Perhaps the place to start is to have a second professor in a position of authority over each House, one who isn't of that House. That way, the students start to learn that there's someone else who will stand up for them, and not just because of House loyalties. Conversely, that person will also be able to look at the students with different eyes, maybe seeing things that the Heads of House miss or dismiss as unimportant." She turned to Dumbledore. "But what are you going to do if you find a Death Eater among your students? Expel them, arrest them, obliviate them? How far are you willing to go?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Right now, we aren't planning on doing anything other than find out who they are and watch them. I don't want to turn a student away, but if their presence endangers the other students, I will. I do think your idea has merit, and I will take volunteers for the position of House Seconds at the end of the meeting."

"And what of Snape?" asked Grubby-Plank. "You've just us told that he does, in fact, work for You-Know-Who."

Dumbledore regained his smile. "Did I then? I think I called him an informer, which could mean any number of things. However, the only reason you know is that it is no longer true. Voldemort has become displeased with Severus's service, especially his apparent lack of success with kidnapping or killing Harry Potter; as such, he has slated Severus for execution, which is why he will not be leaving the grounds of Hogwarts for the foreseeable future."

"That will leave us short-handed when it comes time to chaperone Hogsmead visits," Sprout observed.

"There will be no Hogsmead visits, so you don't need to worry," Dumbledore said, to the surprise of only a few. "To entertain the students, we will be having some additional extra-curricular activities instead. You'll hear more about those later."

And so the meeting went on. And on, and on. They covered class schedules, duty rotations, staff expectations, quidditch schedules, and Ministry standards for the year's coming O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Near the end of the meeting, there was one other item of note.

"The staff does need to be aware that I have approved Hogwarts as a refugee site, should things go badly in the war," Dumbledore said. Everyone looked up at him in shock. "Should it come to that, the unused portions of the south and east wings will be assigned for that purpose. Those of you who have a talent for setting up living quarters will be called on for assistance, and the refugee areas of the castle will be off-limits to students, just as the areas used by the students will be off-limits to refugees. My hope is that we can give the students as much normality as possible, especially if the rest of the world is gripped with insanity."

"Won't that be a little hypocritical?" asked Vector. "I mean, to go on with classes and quidditch, as though nothing is wrong, while their families are in danger. I think it would seem unfeeling of us."

"Not at all," Snape answered, before Dumbledore could open his mouth. "If we were to spend every moment watching and waiting for attacks, their education and development into adults would slow and eventually stop altogether. We don't know how long this will go on, but these children need the chance to grow up in safety. We are not discounting the dangers, and should a student's family be attacked, we will be there to help them pick up the pieces. But to live in fear, that is no life at all." Snape saw several considering glances pass around the table, and smirked inwardly. _You didn't know I was so philosophical, did you?_

The meeting eventually drew to a close, and Snape made his escape as quickly as he could. He was walking down the stairs to the entrance hall, when he stopped suddenly, on his guard. The main doors were open, and they were never left that way. Someone had entered the castle while the professors and staff had been meeting. He drew his wand and scanned the entrance hall. There was no one there, but that did not reassure Snape. He summoned the Bloody Baron with a wave of his wand. The gore-splattered specter appeared quickly.

"How may I serve you, Head of Slytherin?" the ghost asked with a salute.

"Someone has entered the castle in the last few hours, while we were meeting. Is he or she still here?"

"Yes, and the visitor is waiting for you in your office. She does not seem to have any ill intent, although we are watching her carefully." The ghost faded from sight, returning to his post. All of the castle ghosts had been recruited to watch for intruders to the castle. They had readily agreed, glad to have a new diversion to while away the long hours.

Snape strode down to his dungeon office, still on his guard. There was no sense in taking foolish risks. If his visitor was friendly, she would understand his precautions, and if she was not, well, if she was not expecting him to be wary, she was a fool.

His office door was open, as well, and he approached from the side, walking silently. He saw the profile of his visitor and quickly entered the office, closed the door, and set wards and silencing spells.

"Shelly, why are you here? Is Ella alright?" he asked urgently.

Shelly waved her hand at his chair behind his desk. "Ella's fine, but I have just a couple of questions for you, Severus. Have a seat."

Snape sat down perplexed.

"Ella and I have had the most interesting day in Diagon Alley, getting her school supplies. It was so interesting, in fact, that I want to know what the _hell_ you have gotten that child involved in!"

Snape was taken aback. "What do you mean, what I've gotten her involved in? What happened, Shelly?"

"Don't play games with me, Severus—I really am done with puzzles, mysteries, and cryptic remarks. If you don't tell me what's going on, I swear I will hex you half way to next week!"

Snape sat back in his chair, still utterly confused, but amused just the same at Shelly's vehemence. It must have been quite the day to so ruffle her feathers.

"Well, we certainly can't have that; students are arriving in just a few days, and I need to be present, not half way to next week. Tell me what happened, and I promise I will _try_ to enlighten you."

Shelly sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "Fine. Play stupid. It started at Gringotts, where the manager himself, who I've never seen or heard of, took us down to Ella's vault."

"That doesn't sound too strange. Maybe it was a busy day, or he was short-handed," Snape offered.

Shelly sent him a glare. "Really? Well, they weren't too busy to show us to a private parlor and offer us tea while we waited for the manager. But you see, I'm not talking about the vault that you and I filled for Ella, I'm talking about the vault buried deep in the bowels of Gringotts, the one with no key, that Ella was able to open with a touch. The one filled with more treasures and wonders than Ali Babba's cave. The vault that might not even have a number, or if it does, it is vault number 1. _That_ vault!"

"Really. That _is_ interesting. Was that all?"

Shelly rolled her eyes. "No. Our next stop was at Olivander's Wand Shop, where Olivander didn't have to measure her to hand off a wand that is likely a thousand years old, and was made specifically for some woman and works quite well for Ella, when silly me, I thought that used wands were stubborn and not preferable to a new wand. But apparently that isn't true in this case."

"Fascinating. Was _that_ all, then?"

Shelly stared at him incredulously. "No way, Severus. You aren't worming your way out of this. There is something going on, and I know it doesn't have to do with that little Muggle-born girl. I do know it has something to do with her name, or with that ring your cousin gave her. I won't see Ella used in some power play, Severus. I won't."

"You're right, Shelly, it does have to do with the name and the ring, but it also has to do with Ella herself. But I can't tell you what it is. It isn't my place to say, and I don't say that just to piss you off. It truly is not my place or my right to tell you. Just know that Ella is not a pawn, and she isn't being used. That's all I can really tell you."

"If that's true, Severus, than you had better begin preparing that child for whatever she's involved in as soon as possible. There's nothing worse than finding out that you're part of something that everyone else knows about, and you've been kept in the dark. If she knows everything up front, than she can't hold her future against you." Shelly stood and walked to the door, but before she left she turned back to say, "I'll be watching, Severus, not just as Ella's godmother, but as her social worker. If you _are_ using her, I'll take her from you so quickly, you won't know what hit you until you're facing the court on charges." She left and slammed the door behind her.

"Nice to see you too," Snape said to the vibrating wood.

XxX

A/N: I promise that we have finally finished ALL of the pre-school year chapters. The next post will finally feature Ella getting on the Hogwarts express. Hooray! Please keep reading.


	28. Living the Lie

**28. Live the Lie**

The morning of September 1, Ella didn't need a wake-up call of any kind. In fact, she was awake long before sunrise, courtesy of worrisome dreams. Throughout the night, her sleeping mind had envisioned everything that could go wrong, from forgetting her new name to getting lost in the new school to having to live among strangers that didn't like her. The last dream, which left her unable to sleep for the rest of the night, was one where she disappointed her faceless uncle and was sent back to her family and the future she thought she'd escaped. She had sat in the darkness, looking out the window for hours after waking up from that dream. Her cat, whom she had named Adeen, had curled up in her lap, comforting Ella with her warm presence.

The door to her room opened, and Shelly's voice quietly called, "Ella? I'm sorry to wake you up so early, but we have to get going this morning." She approached the bed, the tip of her wand lit, and jerked in surprise when she saw the empty bed. "Ella?"

"I'm over here," Ella said from the window seat. Shelly spun to face her and quickly lit the lamps in the room.

"What are you doing sitting over there in the darkness?" Shelly asked worriedly.

"I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep," Ella answered. " I was just looking out at the stars. They're always so pretty just before dawn."

Shelly walked over to Ella and looked out the window as well. "You're quite right. Tell you what, if you get dressed quickly, I'll set up breakfast outside, and we can watch the sunrise together."

"I'd like that," Ella said, setting Adeen aside and rising. "I'll see you in the kitchen." Shelly left, and Ella dressed in the last set of clothing she had left out of her trunk. She scanned the room to be sure that all her things were packed, then walked out to the kitchen. Shelly had been true to her word, and breakfast was set up on the back patio. Sean came out just as Ella was sitting down, and he poured her a mug of tea.

"So are you ready for your next big adventure?" he asked lightly.

Ella wrapped her hands around her mug and sighed as she watched the sky to the east turn lighter. "I don't feel right about lying to everyone at school," she confessed quietly. "It seems wrong to tell people some made-up story about my family and my uncle. I've never been a liar before!"

"Oh, really?" asked Shelly innocently, "Then why did it come as a complete surprise to everyone in your old life that you were regularly beaten? It seems as though you've been lying or covering up something your whole life."

Ella's jaw dropped, and she turned stricken eyes to Shelly. "What? I never lied. Never. Even though my father said I did all the time, I didn't." Her eyes filled with tears as she fought back the panic she felt whenever she faced her father's punishments.

Shelly realized her mistake and crouched down in front of Ella. "Sweetheart? I'm sorry. I didn't say that right. It's all right. You don't have to be scared." Her quiet voice slowly broke through Ella's fear. Sean cleared his throat and Ella jumped as her head snapped around to face him.

"Ella, though you don't see it that way, you have been living a hidden life for many years," he said quietly. "You knew you couldn't tell your classmates or teachers what your father did to you, so you found ways to excuse away any signs, or to stay out of the attention of others. That's all we are asking you to do now. But, instead of having to worry about people knowing what is happening to you, what you have to hide is who you are. First, you have to hide the fact that in the past, you were Elizabeth Grey. She's dead and buried and deserves to stay that way, the poor thing. If it's found out that Elizabeth is not dead, then her father will get out of prison, and it's likely her family will find a way to take her back, and she would likely not survive the encounter. Second, you must hide your connection to Severus because of the people who wish to harm him or the people he cares about. To hide both of these things, you have to have some information that you can share with people when they ask about your family or your background. Even if you don't chose to tell anyone the entire story, knowing it ensures that what little you do tell doesn't give contradictory facts to different people."

"It still feels like I am lying to people, though," Ella protested.

"Think about it as being part of the witness protection program," Shelly said. "You aren't lying for the sake of lying, but to protect yourself and others. That kind of lying is okay." She paused as she considered her words, then continued, "Well, I don't mean that lying is okay in general, even if you think you're protecting someone, because that kind of lying will usually end up hurting the very person you're trying to protect."

Sean laughed. "Trust a Gryffindor to muddy the waters. Ella, you have everyone's permission to lie about your history. Because you have permission and have even been commanded to lie about it, you don't have to feel guilty. This sort of lying is exempt from the usual rules about telling the truth. That's all. Understand?"

Ella nodded then shook her head no. "Not really, and I still feel like I'll be living a lie, but I do understand why I have to. That's all that really matters, I suppose."

They finished breakfast as the sun rose, bathing the world in soft new light.

Half an hour later, Ella was trying to coax Adeen to her with a handful of cat treats. The kifflin was having nothing to do with he,r though, having seen the carrying case sitting open on the floor. "Come on, Deena," Ella called. "Come here, please?" The kifflin sneezed in her general direction and tried to escape down the hall. Unfortunately for her, Sean was coming to collect Ella's trunk. He deftly caught her and dropped her into the carrying case, latching it closed before she could pop out again. He helped Ella up off the floor, placed the carrying case on top of her trunk, and picked both up easily.

"Time to be off," Sean told Ella. "We're catching a Portkey to London, then getting you situated on the train. We'll have to leave you before the train takes off—I hope you don't mind."

Ella shook her head. "I know you both have to work. I'm glad Shelly took the week off to be with me, but I don't want either of you to get into trouble for missing work. I'll have my books with me; I can just read."

Sean and Shelly escorted Ella to the local Portkey station. They each steadied her as the three of them took hold of a walking stick. Ella gasped as something grabbed hold of her, like a hook in her stomach. The room around her blurred and disappeared, then was replaced by a new room altogether. Ella wavered when the blurring stopped, and would have fallen had her godparents not steadied her. Shelly placed the stick in a container at the side of the platform they stood on and grinned at Ella.

"And that is a Portkey," she said to the wide-eyed girl. "Fun, huh?"

"Or something," Ella said weakly. Sean laughed and picked up Ella's trunk again.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he assured her. "Come this way now."

To Ella's amazement, he led her over to a blank wall and walked calmly through it. Ella stopped and stared until Shelly nudged her in the back.

"Just close your eyes and walk through—it isn't really there," she assured the girl.

Ella took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut. She stepped forward, expecting her outstretched hand to hit stone. When it didn't, she opened her eyes to see crowded Kings Cross station where the wall had been. She turned to Shelly in wonder.

"It didn't make any sense to build another whole station when this one went in," Shelly explained to Ella. "Instead, we put our own platforms between the ones here. Platform 9 ¾ is where you catch the Hogwarts Express, 11 ½ is the Portkey station, and there are others, as well. You just go to the wall you need to get through and casually lean against it when no one is looking. You'll pass through to the platform, and no Muggle is the wiser."

Ella nodded wordlessly and followed Sean to the wall between platforms 9 and 10. He looked around and jerked his head when a train pulled in.

"Now, while everyone's looking at the train," he said, and all three walked through the wall to meet the Hogwarts Express. The scarlet steam engine was waiting, but the platform was empty for the moment. Sean opened a compartment door and placed Ella's trunk inside. Shelly looked around the empty platform and then back at Ella. "Do you think you'll be all right?" she asked. "There'll be lots of people here soon."

"I'll be fine," Ella assured Shelly.

"I'm sorry we have to leave you here alone," Shelly apologized.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Ella said again. Shelly pulled her in for a quick hug, and Sean placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Work hard, have fun, and don't forget to write to us," he said with a grin. "You're going to do great at Hogwarts, and your uncle will be looking out for you."

"Take care of yourself, Ella, and don't forget your restrictions or your potion," Shelly admonished. She gave Ella one last hug, and then Shelly and Sean were gone, leaving with twin cracks of Apparition.

Ella looked around the echoing platform and took a deep breath. She had nothing to worry about. At least that was what Shelly kept promising. She let out the breath with a sigh and climbed the steps into the compartment. She pulled out her potions book and began to read, ignoring the complaints from the kifflin still locked in her case.

It remained quiet for some time, but the silence was finally broken by the slow but steady arrivals of students leaving on the Hogwarts Express. Ella found people-watching much more interesting than her book, and she propped her chin on her hand to stare, fascinated, at the variety of people milling about the platform.

Forty minutes before the train was supposed to leave, Ella noticed a cart set up in the corner of the platform. It seemed to be selling tea and cakes, and she felt her stomach rumble. It had been hours since breakfast, so she decided to go and have a mid-morning tea.

She ate a large scone and drank her tea out on the platform before heading back to the train. When she reached the compartment she'd been in before, she stopped short and stared. All of her things were sitting on the edge of the platform, and a group of older boys had taken residence in the emptied compartment. Ella stood next to her trunk, at a loss for what to do. There was no physical way for her to lift her trunk, and looking over the train, there didn't seem to be any empty compartments left. The prospect of asking a group of strangers if she could join them made her freeze with nerves. A hand tapped her shoulder, making Ella jump. She faced an older girl, who had curly brown hair and a kind smile.

"Do you need a hand?" the girl asked. Ella nodded silently, biting her lip. The girl looked closely at her and narrowed her eyes.

"Do I know you?" she asked suddenly. Ella shook her head no. The girl put out her hand for Ella to shake.

"My name's Hermonie, Hermonie Granger. I'm a prefect, which means it's my job to help younger students. Are you here alone? Usually the parents of first years stick around till the train leaves." Ella shook Hermonie's hand, trying to hide her surprise at the girl's last name. Surely it was a coincidence that the girl's last name was the same as her teacher's this last year. She answered the questions quietly.

"I'm Ella. My godparents had to drop me off early, before work. They thought I'd be fine, but I seem to have lost my compartment."

Hermonie shook her head at the apparent rudeness of someone for taking the smaller girl's seat on the train. "Not to fear, we'll find you a seat. Leave your things here, for now; we'll come back for them." She led the way down the length of the train, looking for an appropriate group of students for Ella to join. "Are you sure we've never met?" she asked again, "You look so familiar to me. Where are you from?"

"I was living in Wales for the last few years," Ella said, gritting her teeth against the lie.

"Wow, did you come all the way from Wales this morning?" Hermonie asked, amazed.

"No, I was with my godparents in Bath, for the last fortnight."

Hermonie brightened. "That must be why you look familiar. I was in Bath for the last fortnight also. I must have seen you somewhere." She snapped her fingers suddenly. "Of course! There was a big funeral in Bath last week. I went to it with my aunt. Were you there?"

Ella had to swallow a sardonic snort. "No, I wasn't," she assured the older girl.

"Are you sure? I'm sure that's where I saw you," Hermonie insisted.

"I'm positive. I was in the hospital until a few days ago. I didn't go to any funerals in the last week, month, or even the last year."

Hermonie blushed slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made it seem like I was calling you a liar. Here, let's try this compartment." She pulled open a door to reveal three boys and two girls. "Do you have an open seat? I've got a first year student that needs a place to sit," Hermonie asked when they looked up. The five students looked at each other and shrugged.

"I guess," said one of the boys. "Do you need a hand with your things?" he asked Ella. When she ducked her head and didn't answer, Hermonie spoke up for her.

"That'd be great," she said.

Ella's things were quickly loaded into the compartment, and Hermonie went on her way, waving good-bye to Ella.

Ella nervously climbed into the compartment and faced the others. One of the girls looked up and smiled at her. "Hi, do you remember me? I'm Vivianne Kingslaire—we met at the pet shop on Diagon Alley." Ella smiled in relief, recognizing the girl. Her older brother Dominick was also in the compartment. He waved a hand briefly at Ella and went back to his conversation with the other two boys.

"You're Ella, right?" Vivianne asked. Ella nodded. Vivianne turned to the others in the compartment. "These are my brother's and my friends: Margo and Bobby Camden, and Elliot Maxwell. Bobby's a fourth year, Dominick and Elliot are third years, Margo's a second year, and I'm a first year like you." Ella nodded to them all and sat down next to the window. She let the conversation of the others wash over her. Everyone in this compartment was old friends, and they comfortably chatted together, including Ella in some of their remarks. It was about time for the train to leave, when Dominick leaned out the window and called, "Here come the late ones!" Everyone peered out the window, laughing as those students who had cut the departure time close rushed through the wall and frantically waved good-bye to parents while jumping on the train. There was a loud whistle from the engine, and the car gave a lurch as the trip to Hogwarts began.

For Ella the long ride on the Hogwarts Express was an education in and of itself. The five friends had all grown up in the Wizarding world, and Ella listened intently to things she had never heard of. After the food cart had gone by, Margo pulled a thick book out of her bag. "Look at what my G_ranmere_ gave me for my birthday this year," she said with a sigh.

"What is it?" Elliot asked, taking the book and flipping through the pages. "It isn't even in English."

"I don't really know. She said I had to learn to read it to appreciate it." Margo tossed the book onto the seat next to Ella. "All I asked for was a few potions recipes to make my own shampoo and stuff. Next time I'll just ask for some money to buy the fancy stuff, rather than trying to find a way to make it on my own."

Ella picked up the book and flipped through several pages. Looking up at Margo she said, "Don't do that, she'll know you didn't learn to read this."

"What do you mean?" Margo asked.

"The introduction of the book says that this is the collection of the finest beauty potions in the world, and it says that they've been simplified so that anyone can brew them." Ella explained quietly.

Margo took the book back and looked at the introduction herself. "That's what this says?" she asked, looking over the words that to her were unreadable. "You can read this?"

"Of course," Ella replied. "I've been reading and writing French for six years. The grammar and vocabulary are very simple."

"Read the first line to me, out loud and in French," Margo demanded.

"_Pour les centaines dianne'es que les femmes ont utilisé les produits de beauté pour améliover leur apparence_," Ella read from the first page.

Margo bit her lip and translated out loud, "Something about hundreds, women have used beauty products for something."

"Women have used beauty products for hundreds of years to enhance their appearances," Ella corrected her. Margo shook her head.

"It's just like her to give me the one thing I've always wanted, but make sure there's no way I can use it!" she complained to her brother.

"Sure there is," he retorted, "Learn to speak and read French correctly, the way she's wanted you to for years. It isn't that hard to figure out."

Margo took the book back and looked at it mournfully. "I hate having to work that hard to get what I want," she grumbled. The rest of the compartment burst into laughter at her complaints.

Vivianne leaned over to Ella and whispered, "She isn't truly that vain, or that lazy. It's just that she wants to make good stuff to sell to the girls at Hogwarts for some extra spending money. If she makes a name for herself now, when she graduates, she'll be able to start selling her own line of beauty products, which is a very lucrative business. Margo is really ambitious, she just hides it well behind a ditzy exterior. If you get in her way, though, watch out, because she'll run right over you and never look back." Ella looked more closely at the pouting girl and saw in her eyes a gleam that spoke far more for calculating intelligence than the foolish words she uttered.

By the time the train slowed and stopped at their arrival, Ella had picked up on many subtle clues about her companions. She tucked them all away, holding the knowledge until it could be used. She was grateful Hermonie had placed her with this diverse group, for as she exited the train, she felt as though she'd had an immersion course in wizarding youth culture, something that would have taken her much longer to learn had she been left alone in her first compartment.

Ella pulled her school robes over her head and nervously settled her hat straight on her hair. The older students all had badges that identified their houses, as well as colored bands around their hats. She looked around the carriage and realized that there were three different color combinations on the four students who stood waiting for the doors to open; green and silver, red and gold, and yellow and black. She looked around and asked, "You aren't all in the same house?"

Elliot laughed. "No way, no how. Just because we grew up together, doesn't mean that we're all the same. But we are different from a lot of other students."

"Why?" asked Ella.

"Because we stayed friends, even after we were Sorted into different Houses," Dominick explained. "Most of the time, people hang out with others from their own Houses; they don't mix much. But we all realized that to stop being friends when none of us had changed was really dumb. Being put into a House doesn't change you, it just identifies what your personality is, and we already knew that stuff about each other. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't be friends with people outside your house. It's a really narrow-minded way to live."

The doors opened, and the older students hopped out. "Just leave your stuff here," Bobby told Vivianne and Ella. "It will get delivered to your House. We have to take the carriages; you'll go over by boat, so you can get the whole effect of the castle. See you later!" The four older students disappeared into the milling crowd. Vivianne and Ella followed a voice that called for all "firs' years" to gather together. A huge giant of a man stood holding a lantern, looking even taller for the small students gathered around him.

"Is that eve'one, then?" he asked, his shaggy head turning back and fourth. "Inter the boats with you, four to a boat." The first year students climbed carefully into the boats moored next to the platform. Ella had to slide from the dock into the boat, sitting on her rear end. She had no idea how she was going to get out on the other side.

The boats cast off, with no hand to guide them. They sailed quietly over the black water, and the students all gasped when the lights of Hogwarts came into view. The windows all glowed like jewels perched high above the calm lake and the sheer cliffs.

They sailed under the wall of the castle, gently bumping into the sheltered dock. When her boat arrived, Ella tried to climb out, but she couldn't find a way to make the big step from the seat of the boat to the wooden dock. A large hand gently picked her up under the arm and placed her safely on the side. Ella looked up to find the giant looking down at her with kind eyes. "All righ', then?" he asked quietly. Ella nodded.

The students started up the stairs that led into the castle, and Ella quickly fell behind. Vivianne also slowed, and Ella looked up from her laborious climb to shake her head. "Don't wait up for me," she said quietly. "It's going to take me a while, and I don't want you to miss anything." Vivianne shrugged.

"Whoever is waiting for us can just wait for us both, since he or she would have to wait for you, anyway. It wouldn't be logical for me to take off, when we're going to the same place."

"If you say so," Ella said, continuing to climb stair after stair.

When they reached the top of the stairs, the rest of the first years were clustered together, facing a stern older witch.

"Now that you are all here, may I have your attention," she said with a slight burr. "I am Professor McGonnagall, the deputy Headmistress of this school, and head of Gryffindor House. In a moment, you will enter the Great Hall to be Sorted into your Houses. Your House will be your home for the next seven years. Your successes will be their successes, and your failures will be theirs as well. Please follow me." She turned and led the students through double doors into the most astounding room Ella had ever seen. Long tables were filled with students, a banner matching the colors of their badges hanging over each table. At the top of the room another table sat on a raised platform, perpendicular to the others, where the faculty sat. The ceiling glowed with the stars and clouds that had filled the sky outside, and in front of the head table there was a stool with a patched and battered hat sitting on top.

Professor McGonagall lined the first year students up in a row facing the head table, and when they were all standing quietly, the hat gave a twitch, a rip opened in the brim, and to Ella's amazement, began to sing.

_Five hundred years and more have passed _

_Since long ago our founders stood,_

_And built a school that long would last,_

_Beyond their lives to do some good._

_The greatest four that ever spoke_

_A spell or made a potion brew,_

_But when their paths together broke,_

_There was one thing they knew. _

_The students here at Hogwarts School_

_Each have their strengths of mind and will,_

_So the founders needed an infallible tool _

_To place each one for good or ill._

_I've given my warning to you before,_

_About unity in this school._

_But you divide yourselves still more,_

_You haven't learned my rule:_

_My job is to split you all apart,_

_But your House is just your bed,_

_ To stay alive you all must start_

_To first think with your head._

_Your differences you make so great_

_Are really rather small_

_When you compare them to the state_

_Of how things stand in all._

_So here I go, one time more_

_To look inside your head_

_Dividing you up into the four_

_Houses where you'll find your bed._

_Are you a Gryffindor, brave and true?_

_Or Hufflepuff steadfast,_

_Is cunning Slytherin more like you,_

_Or wise Ravenclaw where you'll last?_

_I'll split you up, against my will_

_For unity is what you need._

_But it is my job to do, yet still_

_Will my warning you yet heed?_

_I'm never wrong, _

_I'll make that claim,_

_Here ends my song_

_Call that first name!_

There was a round of applause for the hat's song, but silence descended quickly when Professor McGonnagall turned holding a scroll of parchment. Ella watched as she called out the first five names. One at a time, the named student would sit on the stool and have the hat placed on his or her head. After an undeterminable amount of time, the hat would call out the name of a House. The student would go to sit at the House's table, his or her plain robes magically transforming into the colors and badges respective of the new House. Though she had been listening, Ella still jumped when Professor McGonnagall called out, "Dafydd, Elizabeth."

Ella walked slowly to the stool and sat down. The hat blocked the view of the watching students, for which she was very glad. She started when a voice seemed to speak in her ear.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? It's quite the past you have in your head, my dear; there are many adults that haven't had the number of traumatic experiences you've lived through. What shall we do with you, though? Your survival techniques have left you with quite a set of contradictions, you know. You are brave, though you don't trust yourself. You are loyal, though you aren't sure quite to whom you should be. You have the ability to be quite cunning, though that has been repressed quite strongly, and you are highly intelligent, though you try to hide behind mediocrity. You would, like a chameleon, blend into any House I placed you in, yet I don't feel right just picking one out of the hat, so to speak. After all, you are the Dafydd, and we must take that into consideration as well. The first Dafydd I've had the opportunity to poke around in for a very long time, and that puts an entirely other layer on everything. Well, do you have any preference as to where you end up?"

"I don't know," Ella thought, "I don't really know anything about any of these Houses. I would have to learn more before I could tell you what I wanted, but there's no time."

"Need to know more, do you? Well, that's good enough for me. If I could make a recommendation, I would tell you to make friends from every House, because you can learn from them all. It would suit you well as a wise member of the House of Ravenclaw." The last word echoed through the room, and Ella took her place at the cheering table with a sigh of relief. She had a place to belong. Now she could begin to live the life that had been given to her.

XxX

A/N: Happy book 6 to you all, or my condolences depending on whether you are in the middle or end of the book. My story is obviously now AU, and will remain so; I will not be changing my plotline to match HBP, though it is officially my favorite book. I feel so bad for Snape!

Thank you to those who have reviewed; I like to know that those who have read think enough of it to comment. As to the appearance of several _Lord of the Rings_ names, I will admit there are five blatant references to the books or movies. Ella's favorite book, the names of the two new professors, and the name and species of Professor Rogers' familiar. You will meet him the first day of class; I didn't want to end up repeating myself. I will continue writing and posting, though there will be a two-week break in another week, because I'll be in Ireland. Just a little heads up.

Happy reading, both here and in the new book!


	29. First Night

**29. First night**

Snape sat at his place at the head table, watching the students as they entered. The usual exuberance was muted in places, as missing friends were discovered, or tales of attacks and threats were shared. He watched his own table carefully, measuring the glances sent his way, as well as the ebb and flow of power struggles, as students subtly established the year's pecking order. The doors at the end of the hall opened to reveal the first years, and Snape's attention turned to the students nervously making their way up the center aisle. Every year they seemed to get smaller and younger. His eyes found Ella, trailing at the back of the line, though she wasn't alone. Another girl was slowing her pace to stay even with her. Snape was glad to see it, for it meant Ella had found an early ally. He closely examined Ella's appearance, judging how the potion was working. Other than the cane she used and one leg that appeared stiff, there were no marks from her beating from her father. Her eyes lifted to the head table and looked at each professor. He realized that Ella didn't know what he looked like and had to restrain himself from acknowledging her glance with anything other than a cool look.

After the hat's song, the Sorting began. When Ella's name was called, Snape mentally counted the seconds before her house was announced. It took long enough that rustling began at the student tables. Snape wondered why it was so difficult for the hat to place her. When at last it called Ravenclaw, he didn't know whether he was disappointed or relieved. After all, had she been placed in his own House, he would have spent her entire school career wanting to protect her from the political dealings and power struggles that took place in Slytherin's common room. But now that she was in a different House, he was more limited in his interactions with her. At least she had been placed in a decent House, not with the fools in Gryffindor, or the blind in Hufflepuff.

The Sorting ended, and Professor McGonnagal tapped her glass for attention once more. Dumbledore stood, drawing the eyes of every student in the school.

"A few start-of-term announcements: First, the forest that surrounds the school grounds is completely off limits to every student. If you are found inside the forest, you will be punished severely. Second, due to the dangerous nature of these uncertain times, all visits to Hogsmeade have been canceled for the year." He held up his hands to forestall the complaints rising from the crowd of students. "There will be additional activities offered to the students to compensate for the loss of that privilege. Finally"—his face grew very serious—"I am declaring Hogwarts to be neutral ground. No matter what your personal or family political leanings are, if you are found drawing wands or spouting heated words on the school grounds, your loss of House points and your personal detentions will be greater than any seen before at this school. Hogwarts is a place of learning, not of dogma. I will not see its halls turned into battlegrounds. Now, let the feast begin!" Dumbledore sat down as the plates and platters filled with food, and the students turned their attention to filling their stomachs.

XxX

Back at Ravenclaw table, the students gleefully dug into the feast spread before them. Ella could not believe the variety and amount of food that was presented. She filled her plate and ate slowly, glancing at her watch from time to time. It was surprising how slowly time was passing. It wasn't yet eight, for which she was very glad. The last thing Ella wanted to do was take her potion in front of everyone, which would mean answering a lot of questions she didn't want to deal with.

Next to her, Vivianne was chatting away, happy as anything to have been Sorted into Ravenclaw. Ella let the chatter wash over her as she watched and listened to the students around her. From what she had observed, very few details were missed by her Housemates, and she had the feeling that her cover story would be inspected, researched, and validated—not for any vicious reason, but simply because they wanted to know everything. Ella smiled to herself as she sipped hot chocolate at the end of the meal. She could really grow to like it here.

At the end of the meal Headmaster Dumbledore stood again, and the conversations quieted.

"The time as come to end our meal. Now that your stomachs are comfortably full, let me fill your minds with a few introductions. Professor Binns has chosen to take a well-deserved sabbatical, and taking his place until his return is Professor Tania Rogers, anthropologist and author of many books, including our own _Hogwarts, a History_."

A slight, brown haired witch in scarlet robes stood and bowed to the polite applause.

Dumbledore continued, "Also, our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Alexi Mithrandir." The applause for the tall man with pulled-back hair was much sparser, as students considered who or what this teacher may end up being. None of the professors could really blame them, considering what they'd had to endure the year before. Once the school song had been sung, Dumbledore dismissed the students to their dormitories.

Ella and the other first-year Ravenclaws followed their two prefects, Moira and Christopher, as they led the way from the Great Hall toward the dormitories. Although they took the most direct route, it turned out that Ravenclaw Tower was the furthest dormitory from the Great Hall. They climbed stairs and walked through long hallways, the prefects pointing out landmarks to find their way back in the morning. They had reached the third floor east corridor when Ella suddenly felt dizzy. She stopped and leaned against the wall, but even that wasn't support enough. She slid to the floor, her vision graying around the edges and sounds echoing as though through a long tunnel. She thought she heard Vivianne's voice ask if she was all right but found herself unable to answer. Her vision went completely black as a wave of pain swam over her, and she lost her grasp on consciousness completely.

XxX

Several of the first year students gasped or cried out when Ella slid to the floor and then fell sideways. Moira ran to her side and smoothed the girl's hair out of her face. In horror she realized that dark bruises were appearing over the girl's face, and Moira turned around to shield Ella from the students crowding around.

"Christopher, take everyone else up to the dorm, I'll stay here with her until help arrives. What is her name again?" she asked the girl hovering at her side.

"It's Ella. Ella Dafydd," the girl answered worriedly.

Moira nodded. "Go on, Christopher. The last thing Ella needs is a lot of people crowding around her." The older boy nodded and shepherded the first year students away, many of them looking back over their shoulders at their fallen classmate.

Moira tapped her prefect's badge with her wand and called out, "Professor Flitwick, there's a medical emergency on the third floor east corridor. Please hurry." She sat by Ella's side, monitoring her breathing but carefully not moving or even touching the unconscious girl.

XxX

Snape was still in the Entrance Hall, waiting for the last of his Slytherins to head to their common room, when a hummingbird buzzed past his head.

"Flitwick, what's wrong?" he asked quickly.

The bird turned around and then transformed into the Charms Professor. "There's some sort of medical emergency up on the third floor," he answered before transforming again, and Snape followed the bird up the stairs and through the halls. They found Moira still sitting on the floor, wringing her hands while she waited for the professors. She stood when she heard their footsteps, relieved that assistance had come so quickly.

Snape knelt down beside Ella, running his wand over her fallen form. "What happened, Moira?" Flitwick asked.

"Her name's Ella Dafydd, sir. I don't know exactly what happened, but on our way up to the common room, she collapsed and passed out. She hasn't regained consciousness since, but her breathing has been steady, if shallow. What really worried me was this." She motioned to the bruises on the girl's face. "They appeared from nowhere, and I didn't want to chance touching her and causing more damage."

Snape found Ella's potions bag and opened it. "Here's the problem," he said, lifting out a full phial of potion. It was swirling around, its usual purple color mixing with a violent red. "She's an hour and a half late on her dose." He gently lifted Ella wrist, noticing that the lightest touch was leaving additional bruises behind. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No one told the girl that her Muggle watch would stop working when she entered Hogwarts. It stopped at 7:23, likely the moment she stepped off the boat onto Hogwarts proper."

Flitwick turned to Snape. "Do we take her to the hospital ward then?"

Snape shook his head. "No, that would be an unnecessary trip. If you trust me to enter your House's tower, she should have emergency treatment with the other doses of potion."

"Of course I trust you, Professor Snape, don't be foolish." Flitwick turned to Moira and said, "We need to know what room Ella's things are in. Will you slip into the common room and find out, and then we'll take the girl up to her room to treat this." Before Moira could leave, Flitwick held up a cautionary hand. "Ella is being treated for injuries she received before coming to Hogwarts. I know you will be discreet about helping us, as I'm sure she will not want the attention of everyone knowing."

Moira looked slightly hurt at the admonition. "Of course I will, Professor. I wouldn't dream of blabbing about this to everyone." The girl ran ahead to the common room and Flitwick turned back to Snape.

"Normally I'd levitate her to her room or to the hospital ward, but I think that would cause additional embarrassment to the child. Would you be willing to carry her?" Snape nodded and gently lifted his niece into his arms. The child's small stature, combined with his billowing robes did make her much less noticeable. Flitwick then cast a spell around Snape to further draw attention away from him and led the way to Ravenclaw Tower.

At the foot of a set of stairs that apparently led nowhere, Flitwick tapped his wand in a complicated pattern on the banister, and the stairs silently slid ninety degrees to the right and met up with a doorway that stood between two large pictures. They climbed the stairs, and when they reached the top, the door opened, and Moira beckoned them through.

"She's actually in my room at the top of the tower, Professor," she said quietly. They walked around the edge of the common room, which was filled with students, most of whom were laughing and talking. They started up a spiral stairway at the back of the room, and when they had passed the first curve of the stairs, Moira turned slightly to speak with the professors as they climbed.

"I did take the liberty of telling the first year students who asked that Ella would be fine and would be joining us in the common room later. Several of them were very worried, and others were noticing."

Flickwick nodded. "I suppose that was the right thing to do. Professor Snape, will she be able to join them later?" he asked.

"Yes, once she's back on the correct dosage of potion, it will be as though nothing had happened," he assured both of them. Finally they reached the top of the winding staircase, and Moira opened the door to the room.

"Ella's things are over here," she said quietly. Snape laid the girl on the bed and opened her trunk. On the top was the potions case the mediwizards had given Ella. He opened it and took out a phial with a dropper. He delicately placed three drops in her mouth and waited three minutes, timing it with his pocket watch. At the end of the three minutes, he opened the phial of potion Ella hadn't taken and carefully poured it into her mouth, angling her head so she could swallow. Moments after the potion was taken, the bruises faded away and her breathing eased.

XxX

Ella swam back to consciousness slowly. The pain was gone, as was her dizziness. She opened her eyes and took in the three forms above her.

"What happened?" she asked, looking around the room.

"You missed your potions dose by quite a while. I believe you were warned not to let that happen?" said the taller man standing above her.

Ella sat up, realizing she was lying on a soft bed with a blue canopy above her. She looked down at her watch and back up at the people watching her.

"How can that be? It isn't eight o'clock yet. I've been watching," she protested.

The second man, who was very short, nodded in understanding. "You've been checking to see that it wasn't yet eight, not what time it actually was, weren't you?" he asked kindly. Ella nodded. "Then you wouldn't have noticed that the actual time hasn't changed for the past two hours," he said.

Ella's eyes widened before she signed in embarrassment and buried her face in her hands. "I'm an idiot!" she exclaimed.

"Not at all, simply unaware of a phenomenon of the magic around Hogwarts. Nothing with electricity or batteries will work in the castle. There's just too much magic around," said the taller man.

Ella noticed that Moira had glanced sideways at the man, as though his response was out of character. "Who are you?" she asked the two men. "I know you're professors, but I can't thank you properly for your assistance.

The small man offered a hand to Ella to help her sit up. "I am Professor Flitwick, your Head of House and Charms professor. This gentleman"—he gestured to the other man—"is Professor Snape, the Potions master, which is why he was able to recognize your symptoms so quickly and render you aid.

_Not to mention that he knew very well what potion I was taking, _Ella thought to herself. This was her uncle, her rescuer, and the person she wasn't supposed to know. From what Shelly had told her, his not agreeing that she was an idiot _was_ out of character. She smiled shyly up at both professors.

"Thank you for helping me," she said quietly. "I don't suppose there's any hope that people didn't notice?" she asked Moira.

"It was a little hard to miss you turning white and passing out," Moira replied, "but I sent everyone away before they saw your bruises, and Professors Flitwick and Snape sort of snuck you up here while everyone's back was turned. If you come back down and act like nothing happened, people will forget about it. We can tell them that you just got lightheaded, if you like."

Ella nodded in thanks. She carefully stood up, and Professor Flitwick handed her the cane, which he'd carried up from the hallway. The four exited the room, and Ella looked with dismay at the winding staircase that extended below her. Though she could handle stairs if they had a handrail, the effort always left her tired and sore. The others looked back to see what was keeping her, and Professor Flitwick's face lit in understanding.

"This just won't do at all, will it?" he asked cheerfully, pulling out his wand. He waved his wand in several complicated moves, placing charms on the handrails and the stones on the top of the stairs.

"Come stand right here, Miss Dafydd," Professor Flitwick instructed, pointing to the edge of the stairs. Ella complied, looking to him for further instructions.

"Until you are able to climb the stairs normally, all you must do is stand at the top or the bottom of the stairs and grasp the handrail. Say the word _ascend _or _descend_ and you will safely be slid along at a walking speed. Let go of the rail and your movement will stop," he explained to her. "You may look a bit strange, because you will move at the diagonal, rather than by step, but it will do for the next month."

Ella smiled in relief and hooked her cane over her left arm. She grasped the rail with her right hand and said, "Descend." She began to smoothly slide down the stairs, moving slowly. She let go of the rail and settled without a jar on the closest stair step. She looked back up the few stairs to where her professors and the prefect were still standing and gave them a brilliant smile. Professor Flitwick and Moira smiled in return, and all three moved down the stairs to join her.

As they all continued down, Ella watched her uncle surreptitiously. He was tall and thin, and his face seemed drawn, perhaps by pain, or by stress. She hoped he was not always as grim as he now appeared. The hazy memory of a kind voice speaking to her in the hospital, and the gentle hand that had rested on her head belied her fears somewhat, though she wasn't certain if she had dreamed it or if it was a true memory. Most of the first days of her hospital stay were firmly fixed behind a hazy veil of pain and potions.

Halfway down the stairs, her uncle spoke to her, breaking his silence. "Since you seem to be without an appropriate timepiece, I will be certain you receive one before your next required dose of potion," he said quietly. Ella's head turned to face him fully.

"Thank you, sir," she replied.

That was all they spoke for the remainder of the trip down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Professor Flitwick bid Moira and Ella a good night, and he and Professor Snape left quietly, unnoticed by the students who were conversing and relaxing in the common room.

Moira led Ella over to a chair on the side of the crowd and slipped over to a tall boy with dark hair. She whispered something in the boy's ear, and he nodded. He walked to the fireplace and tapped his wand against a metal bell. It rang clearly through the room, and the conversation died away as everyone turned to face him.

"Ravenclaws, I bid you welcome to another year," he said clearly. "We have just a few things to attend to, before we bid you goodnight and let you go to your rooms. First of all, for our new first years, my name is Alexander Devon, and I am the elected head of the Ravenclaw council this year. I will allow the others on the council to introduce themselves as they share with our newest House members the truths of Ravenclaw House." He gestured to a group of students sitting to the side of the fireplace, then continued, "The first truth of Ravenclaw that you must understand is that the beginning of knowledge is admitting your ignorance. Do not be afraid to be wrong, but seek to learn what you do not know."

A girl with long black hair stood next. "I am Cho Chang. The second truth of Ravenclaw is that the mind cannot reach full strength if the body is weak. You must strengthen both, together."

Another girl, who was shorter, with the coloring of the Mediterranean countries stood. "Aletha Rotice. Words are power in Ravenclaw, for they not only provide information, they are your bond. Speak wisely, for you shall be held to them."

The fourth person stood, a boy who was thin and gangly. "I am Richard Newson. The fourth truth is that information hoarded is knowledge wasted. Share discoveries, so that all may benefit."

The last member of the council stood, a short, compact boy with dirty blond hair. "Joseph Banyon. The final truth is that there are many sides to every argument or opinion. Try to fully understand the different sides, so that when you choose to stand for someone or something, you know what you are standing for."

Aletha stepped forward. "We are Ravenclaw, the House of wisdom. Our philosophy is explained in the History and Traditions book that each of you first years will receive. Read it carefully; be sure you understand it. Although you did not necessarily choose to become a part of Ravenclaw House, you are now one of us, and as such, you must live by our truths and abide by the code."

The older students in the room responded with a rousing, "Hear, hear!"

Aletha sat down by the unlit fire with the other council members, while Richard took her place.

"The council has several proposals that we much present to the House for approval," he said. "The first is based on observations made over the last three years. It has been pointed out that each year there is an expectation that either Gryffindor or Slytherin will take the House Cup, and that the only chance Hufflepuff or we have of winning is if the latter two lose too many points from attacking each other. The council would propose that this assumption is based on faulty logic, and we would like to prove it so, by clearly taking the House Cup this year. All in favor of exploring the steps necessary to accomplish this, please say aye."

There was a resounding chorus of "Ayes" from the room. The call for nays was met with silence. Richard nodded and said, "Then I will need volunteers for a committee over the next week to create a list of logical, reasonable actions to be followed by the House. Thank you."

There was a general stir as those waving their hands to join the committee were recorded. When it was settled again, Cho took the floor.

"As captain of this year's Quidditch team, I need to inform the House that this year is a rebuilding year for the team. Over half of the team graduated last year, so there are many openings on both the House team and the reserve team. To find the best replacements, we are asking everyone to try out, lest we miss a hidden talent. Tryout dates will be posted in the common room. Finally, John and Collin have a report on the status of our brooms."

Two boys stood on the side of the room, choosing not to climb over everyone to reach the front.

"We've been looking into several solutions to the unfair advantage some other teams have gotten in the last few years, with the gifts of very expensive broomsticks," the first boy reported.

The second nodded his head and continued, "We contacted several professional teams to see how often their brooms are replaced and what they do with their old brooms when they are. We lucked out with three of the teams. They replace their team brooms every year and donate their used broomsticks to schools and such. We will be getting a delivery in the next week or so. All three teams use different brands, so after our teams are set, we'll find the best broom for each and give the rest to Madame Hooch to replace the worst of the school brooms."

There was a round of applause for the two boys, after which Alex stood.

"Is there any other business? No? Then we will bid you goodnight once the first years have been assigned to their rooms." He gestured to a girl hold a sheaf of papers. She made her way to the front of the room and stepped up onto a chair.

"Right then. First years, when your name is called, please stand. You'll be collected by the seventh year in your room. Sixth years, please don't forget to pick up this year's journals at the foot of the stairs."

She began reading off the names of the twelve new first year students. With each name she also named a bird and some object that had to do with birds and flight such as nests, feathers, branches, claws. Ella supposed that these could be the names of the rooms. She looked around and saw that groups of students were heading up the stairs, most of them with a bewildered first year following. The room swiftly emptied, until there were only six girls besides Ella left. The girl on the chair jumped down and stuck out her had for Ella to shake.

"Last but never least, Ella Dafydd, Crow's Nest. I'm Rosemary Stern, seventh year. We also have Opal, Moira, who led you up here, Sylvia, Aubree, and Meagan." The girls nodded in turn, and Ella assumed that Rosemary had named them in descending order of year at school. She smiled shyly in greeting and followed her new roommates to the stairs. At the base of the winding stairs, Sylvia turned to Ella, a questioning look in her eyes.

"Not to be rude, but is that cane for looks, or do you need it to get around? You see, we live at the very top of the tower, and—"

Moira cut her off. "Professor Flitwick has charmed the stairs for Ella already, Sylvia." When the others looked at her in question, Moira shook her head. "I'll explain in the room," she said cryptically. The girls seemed to accept it and started up the stairs.

Opal looked approvingly at the way Ella moved up the stairs. "You can always trust Professor Flitwick to think ahead," she said with a smile.

They reached the top of the stairs, but Rosemary moved to stand in front of the door, blocking their way in. She pulled her wand as the other girls formed a loose half circle before her.

"Before we enter the room, there is something you must know, Ella," she said. "For the next seven years, the Crow's Next will be your home here at Hogwarts. The girls standing with you, as well as the ones who will join this group each year are your sisters. We are here to be your friends and your mentors, just as you will be friend and mentor to the girls who are younger than you. What is spoken in this room is sacred information. You may never use it for personal gain, revenge, or indeed, even speak of it to anyone outside of this room unless given leave by your sister. Do you understand?"

Ella nodded in agreement, but Rosemary wasn't finished.

"Because you can trust that what you tell your sisters will never be shared, you must also swear that you will speak the truth in all matters when you are in the room. There are to be no lies, half-truths, or any misleading. Will you abide by that as well?"

Ella bit her lip in worry. This wasn't something that her uncle had warned her about. "There are some thing that I can't tell anyone," she said looking around at the faces surrounding her. "Things that I've been sworn to secrecy on. I cannot break my faith with those people," she said earnestly.

"Then you must be honest and tell us when you cannot say, rather than telling a falsehood," Rosemary answered. "Will you swear?"

Ella nodded, but took a step back in alarm when Rosemary's wand came up. "No! You can't cast a spell on me!" she cried in alarm. Rosemary lowered her wand but her face was a mixture of impatience and confusion.

"Whyever not?" she asked. "Everyone here has had the same spell set on her. It helps you keep your word, so that you literally cannot share your sister's secrets. It's a harmless spell, it won't hurt."

"No, you don't understand," Ella said impassionedly. "I was hurt a fortnight ago, and the mediwitch who healed me said that I can't have any spells of any kind cast on me until October, or the spells she was using would unbalance and could hurt me!"

Opal spun to face her. "Wait, are you saying you were hurt so badly that you won't be completely well for a month? That's almost unheard of!"

Ella quailed under the combined stares of her six "sisters." This wasn't what she'd wanted at all. No one was supposed to know what had happened to her. No one was supposed to find out the truth. Shelly had promised that she could safely tell her made up story to everyone.

It was Moira who came to her rescue. She waked over to Ella and stood next to her, crossing her arms defiantly. "A fine group we are, first promising to never share secrets, then asking a child to spill all in the hallway where anyone could overhear. If Ella says she can't have the spell cast on her until October, then so be it. She'll have to give her word not to slip or spill the beans for one month. I don't think its fair to put her on the spot, and I'll vouch for her injuries and her need of special treatment for a time."

"Why are you vouching for her?" asked Meagan. "What do you know that we don't?"

"I'll not say until we're behind closed doors," retorted Moira.

"Enough!" said Rosemary in a commanding voice, stopping their argument. "Will you all accept Ella's word not to break the sanctity of the room? At least until she can safely have the spell set on her?" she asked the girls who hadn't joined in the discussion. They nodded or shrugged, and Rosemary turned to Meagan. "Will you accept it?"

"I don't like it, but I don't see that I have a choice," the girl replied.

"It's settled then," Rosemary said. "Ella, will you swear, by whatever you personally hold sacred, that you will keep in confidence what is spoken behind the doors of this room?"

Ella held up her right hand as she promised. "I swear that I will hold the secrets told to me in this room in the same confidence that a priest holds the things told him in confession."

Aubree looked at her in confusion. "What?" she asked.

Ella looked at her solemnly. "What a Catholic priest hears in confession, he cannot share with anyone. It's held in such strict confidence that a judge can't even force him to say in a court of law," she explained. Looking around at their blank looks, she shrugged. "I went to a Catholic school until last year."

Rosemary stepped aside and allowed the others to enter the room. She gave Ella a considering glance when she passed but didn't say anything else.

"Are the treats here?" Sylvia asked.

"I can never understand how you can eat more after the spread we have at the welcome feast every year," Opal replied.

"It's been over an hour since the welcome feast ended, and there is always room for hot chocolate with whipped cream and the chocolate biscuits the elves put out," Sylvia retorted, flopping down in a chair by the fire.

Ella hadn't had a chance to look around the room earlier. It was wedge-shaped, with the door at the narrow end of the wedge. On the wall to the right of the door were the seven beds, each a tall four-poster with a dark blue canopy and heavy hangings, which would ensure privacy. At the end of each bed were their trunks, and narrow wardrobes for hanging their clothes helped to separate the beds a little. The outer wall of the tower was taken up by a large fireplace, which held a collection of chairs and sofas, enough for everyone to lounge comfortably. The center of the room was taken up by a seven-sided desk, and each side had a tilted surface with clips for securing parchments, handy ink- and quill-holders, and a lower tray to store books and materials. The chairs at the desk looked to be comfortable without losing the support necessary for long study sessions. The final wall held a counter with a long mirror and a door, which was closed.

"The loo and showers are through there," Moira pointed to the closed door. "We have a private bath up here. Height has its privileges in this case. Come have a seat."

She pulled one of the desk chairs over to the fire, realizing that Ella would have a hard time getting out of the low, soft chairs that made up the rest of the seating. Ella smiled and accepted a mug of hot chocolate, which she set on a low table next to the nearest sofa. Aubree handed her a small plate of biscuits, with fluffy macaroons and soft snickerdoodles in addition to the chocolate that Sylvia had mentioned.

Everyone settled down, somehow finding room for more food and drink. From what the others said, Ella realized that this was a tradition for the members of the Crow's Nest. Now that the door was safely closed, the girls relaxed and began to truly catch up on the events of the past summer.

"Opal, how's Jerry? I haven't heard you talk about him at all tonight," Sylvia asked.

"Funny you should mention him," Opal said, with a sad smile. "I wouldn't know, really, since we broke up a month into the summer holiday."

"What?" Rosemary said, quickly swallowing the mouthful of hot chocolate she'd just taken. "After last year we were all sure you were coming back to school with at least a promise ring, if not an actual engagement."

Opal shrugged. "If you had asked me two months ago, I'd have expected the same thing. But, after he graduated, Jerry became completely obsessed with You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. What's saddest is, I can't even tell you if he was for them or against them. He was just obsessed with following their movements, talking about what they were up to, it was like I wasn't even there. I don't think he really noticed when I left," she said sadly.

"I'm so sorry, Opal," Sylvia said contritely, "I didn't mean to bring up something painful."

Opal shrugged again. "It's all right, Sylvia. You didn't know, and what's done is done."

Aubree turned to Meagan. "Did you get my owls this summer, Meg? You didn't answer any of them."

Meagan ducked her head and said quietly, "I got them, but I wasn't allowed to write. Do you remember how strangely my mum acted when we got off the train at Kings Cross?"

Aubree nodded. "Yes, she didn't let you hang about at all and didn't stay for tea with my mum, and they've been doing that every year since your older brother and my oldest sister started at Hogwarts."

"Well, the truth is, my mum wasn't supposed to be at the station at all."

"Why not?" asked Sylvia.

"Well, when Harry Potter published that list last year of Death Eaters, he missed a few names. My father was one of them, and my mum turned him in. Said she couldn't stand knowing that he was getting away with doing horrible things. So, she had to go into protective custody, and I went with her. We bounced all over England this summer, staying one step ahead of the people who were sent to punish her for speaking out. It worked, too, until last week. We almost got flattened in Surrey; they blew up the house and everything." The girls gasped in shock at the near miss, and Ella spoke up.

"Was your mum all right? I was in Surrey with my godmother, Shelly, who works for the Department of Children and Families, and she said your mum had disappeared."

Meagan nodded. "Yes, she got hit with a stunner right when she grabbed the escape portkey, and lost her wand because of it. She was out for a while, and then she had to make her way to a fireplace connected to the floo network."

Ella suddenly realized that in speaking up, she had drawn attention to herself and to the unanswered questions she had avoided in the stairway. She had a feeling she wasn't going to be able to escape much longer. These girls didn't seem to be the type to let mysteries go unsolved. She was right; Sylvia's attention was focused solely on her now.

"So, what's your story, Ella? You must have a fascinating one, from the few clues you've let drop." Her voice carried the slightest hint of skepticism, as though a _mere child_, like Ella, couldn't possibly have the secrets she seemed to carry.

Ella tried to avoid the curious looks her roommates were giving her, but she knew she couldn't for long. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and looked up to face the others. She focused on Moira's face, hoping that the older girl's previous support would continue.

"Before I tell you anything, you have to know that everyone out there," she waved vaguely at the wall, indicating the rest of the school, "is being told that I was in a car accident, and that is how I was injured. In the same accident, my parents were both killed, and my uncle became my guardian."

"Why the story, Ella? Why not just tell the truth?" Rosemary asked quietly. Ella's eyes met hers.

"Lots of reasons," she said simply. "For one, there are people who could be put into danger if the truth was known. For another," she looked down at her hands and sighed, "the other main reason is personal. A car accident can happen to anyone, and after a time, everyone forgets about it. In a month, I can be just a normal person, not some freak."

It was Sylvia who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Okay, so we'll tell everyone about your massive car accident, but what's really going on?"

Ella couldn't bring herself to look at anyone but Moira, the one person who had already seen what happened to her.

"Do you know that I've never actually told anyone?" she said quietly, with a pleading tone in her voice. "I mean, people know, now, but I didn't have to tell them. I've never actually said anything." Moira didn't answer her, but Ella could feel the looks of curiosity, impatience, and confusion that were coming from her roommates. Unable to bear their looks, she focused her eyes on her lap and broke the silence she'd held for eight years.

"I was injured, very badly, two weeks ago. But it wasn't a car that broke my bones, it was my father. He was the one who hurt me, and it wasn't the first time. It was the last time, though, because if my uncle hadn't found me when my family left the next day, I would have died. So, my uncle really is my guardian, and thanks to him, they think I'm dead.

"But I was hurt badly enough that the only way for me to make it to Hogwarts, was for the mediwitch in charge of my case to put me on a potion that I have to take four times a day, and until I'm done taking that potion, I can't have any spells hit me, or the extra magic will mess with the potion and the healing spells and mess me up a lot."

She kept her eyes down when she finished, not wanted to see the looks of pity she was sure she would find.

The silence dragged on, until Aubree gave a giant yawn. "I don't know about anyone else, but I am exhausted. I'm going to bed, so I'll see you all in the morning." She put her cup and plate on the table, went over to her trunk, and pulled out a pair of pajamas. She waved to the chorus of "Good-night's" that came from the fireplace and disappeared into the bathroom to change.

That seemed to be a signal, for everyone began to stack cups and plates and rummage in trunks for sleepwear, toothbrushes, and face soap. The less inhibited girls changed in the open, hanging their clothes in the wardrobes. Ella followed the shyer girls into the bathroom, where she changed in a toilet stall. She ran a finger over the raised lines of the brand that marred her shoulder, realizing that even after telling her roommates the truth of the abuse she had suffered from her father, she still wanted to hide the scars that would permanently mark her as a victim. Some secrets were just too painful to share. She went back out into the room, climbed into bed, and pulled the long curtains closed, shutting her bed into a comforting darkness. It wasn't long before she fell deeply asleep.

XxX

A/N: Welcome to Hogwarts! This is my idea of what Ravenclaw is like, though some of its representative members (Cho, Luna, etc.), don't really seem to fit in here. Oh well, that's why this is fiction... it doesn't always have to make sense. So long for now!


	30. Shaking Things Up

**30. Shaking Things Up**

Snape was making his way through the dungeons when the back of his neck began to prickle. He continued walking as though he hadn't noticed anything, but he slid his hand into the hidden pocket where he kept his wand and readied himself for the challenge he knew was coming.

For anyone who wasn't accustomed to dirty tricks in dueling, the attack would have come without warning and likely would have ended in his death. However, Snape was an old hand at unscrupulous dueling, which is why he always cast a shielding spell to cover his back before leaving his rooms. The dark red light of the spell glanced off his shield and hit the wall behind him, leaving a deep gash in the stones. He spun, casting a spell of his own and catching the perpetrators unprepared. His binding spell spun around them, holding them fast. It was a subduing spell, which tightened the more the captive struggled. As the last of the smoke cleared from the first impact, he inspected his prey. They were third years, old enough to have learned some nasty hexes but still young enough to think they could best him. It turned his stomach that these children had now been drafted into the war their fathers were fighting.

He caught the eye of the center of his three attackers, his gaze seeing far more than the boy realized.

"Nicholas, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by your involvement. I've always said you are very like your father. Attacking a man from behind, before he has a chance to draw his wand, has always been your father's style," Snape's voice lashed out at the boy, wiping away the sneer the child had plastered on his face. "But like him, you are a fool, Nicholas, for you assumed that I was weak and would be unable to detect your presence. If you don't wise up quickly, you will end up dead, just like him." He contemptuously turned his back on the three boys and released the binding spell holding them with a wave of his wand as he turned the corner to the entrance of the Slytherin common room.

He entered the room dramatically as always, his robe flaring around him as he strode to his place at the center of the room. The students came to their feet respectfully, though some carried an air of open insolence they'd not had before. _Let the games begin,_ thought Snape. He stood in silence, meeting the eyes of his older students, marking how long it took them to look down in deference. Though he was not using his Legilimency, he was able to read many things from the body language of his students. The waiting game lasted some time before the students began to shift uncomfortably. Snape allowed a smirk to cross his face as he won the first of the contests of will for power in the House. When he finally broke the silence, his low, silky voice caused a few of the students to flinch. Every student in Hogwarts knew it was best to find cover when Professor Snape sounded this dangerously calm.

"It has come to my attention that some of the members of this House feel that I no longer have their best interests in mind. They have expressed their displeasure with my leadership, though they did so in a very foolish way. I would like to remind all of you that if you choose to question my leadership, or challenge me outside of this House, the consequences are out of my hands. I cannot and will not protect you from yourselves." He paused and his smile would have struck fear the heart of a madman. His voice grew even smoother. "And let me simply say, that should any of you decide to attack me here, I will not hesitate to defend myself by whatever means I deem necessary. I trust I do not need to say more. Now, I bid you goodnight."

He whirled and left the room, hearing the buzzing of voices break out before the door swung shut behind him. It was the perfect setup, really. Now the older members of the House would not rest until they had discovered who had been foolish enough to try and take on their Head of House. They would police themselves now, disciplining the wayward and discouraging others from the same course of action. Hopefully, he would not have to worry about further attacks from his own students. The backstabbing politics of Slytherin House would prevent such action. He went to his chambers and fell quickly asleep, the satisfaction of a manipulation well done bringing a glow to his heart.


	31. Unspeakable

**31. Unspeakable**

The next morning, all plans of students and faculty were set aside when the Department of Mysteries felt the need to seal and search the school.

The Department of Mysteries was so named because no one really knew what they did. The agents of the Department were called Unspeakables, mostly for lack of a better term. If a curious person were to investigate the Department, and if that person somehow, by some miracle managed to pin down an agent, and then were able to in some way extract the truth from that agent, he or she would learn that the purpose of the Department, as those who worked for it called it, was to maintain the status quo. Simply put, having renounced all ties and alliances with the Ministry, and all other political factions, the Department was there to make sure that no matter who ruled the wizarding world, no matter how they took power or chose to keep that power, there would be a wizarding world for them to rule, and the members thereof would have food, water, shelter, and the historical places and cultural artifacts needed to preserve their way of life.

The Department was not in the business of putting people into power, or taking the powerful out, but they would preserve life to the best of their abilities and prevent the powerful from destroying the way of life wizards were used to living.

So, when they learned that students at Hogwarts, some knowingly and others unaware, had carried through the wards of the school the elements needed to destroy the castle and all inhabitants therein, they took it upon themselves to secure the school and remove the dangerous items.

The first to become aware of the events that morning was Professor Fillius Flitwick, who attempted to leave his quarters for his morning constitutional at 5:42 am. He was prevented from leaving his quarters by the simple fact that his door would not open. None of the 347,213 charms he tried to unlock, open, or eventually break down his door worked, and he realized that this could not be the work of some mischievous student. He attempted to contact Headmaster Dumbledore, but in the hour and a half that he'd been attempting to correct the problem himself, everyone else had found themselves in the same difficulty, and the floo network was overloaded, resulting in crossed connections, and splitting headaches for those who found themselves piled three deep in single fireplaces.

At 8:17 am, a castle-wide announcement alerted all residents as to the reason for their detainment in their quarters early that morning.

"Attention all residents of Hogwarts. The Department of Mysteries would like to apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced this morning, but we have found it necessary to temporarily alter the normal schedule of the school. Until such time as every resident has been interviewed by an agent of the Department, you will be confined to your quarters. Food will be delivered to your common rooms at regular mealtimes, and you are encouraged to relax and enjoy this imposed extension to your summer vacation. Please be aware that there is no avoiding your interview, and it would be futile to try. Any complaints as to your treatment or the behavior of agents of the Department can be addressed to the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Thank you, and have a nice day."

XxX

Snape had discovered his confinement early on, but he had wasted no time in trying to break free. He threw a handful of floo powder into the small fire he kept burning in the iron stove that warmed his sitting room instead the usual fireplace.

"Dumbledore! Are you there?" he called loudly, in case the headmaster was still asleep. He stuck his head through the green flames and was greeted by a frustrated headmaster.

"Let me guess," Dumbledore snapped, before Snape could say a word. "You are sealed in your quarters by a door that will not obey any command to open it, as well as windows that have become impervious to all solid objects, including and especially owls. You cannot get a floo connection anywhere outside of the castle, and all other communication devices are also experiencing malfunctions. No house elf is responding to summons, and you cannot even get a ghost or portrait member to help you communicate with the outside world, because somehow they also have been locked in whatever frames they were in at 3:51 am. Do you have anything to add to your report?"

Snape was taken aback by Dumbledore's obvious irritation, but he was impressed at the number of avenues the headmaster had already exhausted.

"No, sir, I think that about sums it up," he replied blandly. "I'll leave it in your capable hands then." He pulled his head out of the flames and closed the door to the stove. He sat back, trying to puzzle out what had happened and hoping this was not some trick of Voldemort's. It wasn't the Dark Lord's style, though, and he focused on other concerns. One worry that ran through his head several times was that he'd been unable to deliver the promised timepiece to Ella. Hopefully, someone in Ravenclaw Tower had an accurate watch, and Ella would remember to ask the time. If something happened to her now, there was no one who could reach her to administer help.

Realizing that there was nothing he could do at the moment, he armed himself with wand and potion and waited to see who would eventually come through his door.

XxX

Ella's morning started early, when her cat decided she'd had enough sleep. The kifflin started playing with the bed curtains, causing them to rattle, and when that failed to rouse her mistress, she resorted to the age-old feline tactic and bit Ella's nose.

Ella sighed when she realized that continued sleep was not an option. She opened the curtains of her bed and looked around, grateful that enough light came through the long windows and the stained glass skylight that she could see. She grabbed her cane and clothes for the day and went into the bathroom to change. She was fixing her hair, standing at the mirror, when a voice from the side startled her.

"Are you truly that shy, or is it something else?"

Ella spun around, catching herself on the counter. Moira had been reading on one of the couches, her reclining position hiding her from view until she sat up.

"What?" Ella asked in confusion.

"When you got up just now, you went and changed in the loo, even though as far as you could tell, no one else was awake. So are you shy, or is there something you don't want us to chance seeing?" Moira asked quietly, laying her book aside and sitting up fully.

Ella turned back to the mirror and finished her hair, her heart racing. How could she answer that question? Telling the truth aside, there was no way she was showing her collection of scars to anyone.

Moira's quiet voice floated over again. "You don't have to answer, if you don't want to, Ella, I was just curious." The older girl beckoned for Ella to join her by the fireplace. "The rest of the lazy slug-a-beds won't be up for another hour or so, and breakfast isn't until eight," she said with a smile.

Ella sat down, unsure of what to say. Moira seemed to be much more mature than the other girls, and she also seemed to be able to glean a great deal of truth from things left unsaid. Ella had a feeling that the other girl would easily see through any stories or excuses she used.

Moira looked at her for a long moment, then asked, "When your uncle got you out of your father's house, did he involve the Department of Children and Families?"

"Yes. Why?" Ella asked.

"Then you should probably know that the professors all know that you weren't in a car accident." Moira responded calmly.

"What?" Ella asked in a shocked whisper. How could Moira know these things?

"You're part of the system now, Ella," Moira said quietly. "And every minor in the system has a paper trail that follows them. The DCF doesn't give out details, but they are required by law to inform Hogwarts that you are under their supervision, and the reason why. They will also receive copies of your grades and school files, to be sure you're fitting in well and aren't suffering from long-term effects. So, the professors will all know that earlier this year you were removed from your parents by the DCF because of physical abuse and that you are under the guardianship of a relative. I thought you should know."

"How do you know all that?" Ella asked suspiciously.

"Because I'm in the system, too," Moira explained, "and when I found out that all my professors knew that I was living with my oldest brother and that my parents were dead, I was really pissed off that no one had warned me. I'm also going to warn Meagan, so don't feel like I'm singling you out."

Ella shook her head in defeat, feeling betrayed. After all, it had been Shelly who'd told her that she could cover her background with a story. Why hadn't she just told the truth? Ella planned on demanding some answers when she wrote to Sean and Shelly later that week.

"Will you be all right?" Moira asked when the silence stretched on. Ella raised her head to look at the older girl.

"Yes, I'm glad you warned me, or I would have flipped if any of them mentioned it." Ella tried to shrug off her disappointment and asked, "What time is it, anyway?"

Moira summoned her watch from her wardrobe and checked it. "Six-fifteen. Why?"

"Well, after what happened last night, I'm feeling a little paranoid about missing my medicine," Ella answered.

"I can well imagine. Would you like to borrow my watch until you get a new one?" Moira held the watch out.

Ella smiled and shook her head. "That's all right. Professor Snape said he'd get an 'appropriate timepiece' this morning. Thank you, though." She sat down on one of the facing couches, and immediately Adeen jumped up, made herself comfortable on Ella's lap, and promptly fell sound asleep.

"Why couldn't you have done that when I was happily asleep?" Ella asked the now boneless ball of fur sprawled over her legs.

"Because she's a cat, and, therefore, contrary," Moira replied with a smile.

The cat's antics broke the serious mood, and the two passed the time until the rest of their roommates stumbled out of bed, talking about harmless and inconsequential matters.

They all left the room shortly before eight, and descended into chaos in the common room.

"What's going on?" asked Opal

A boy near the stairs answered. "Some prankster sealed the door to the common room, and none of the standard counter-spells are working to open it."

"Have you called Professor Flitwick?" Meagan asked.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Do you think we're idiots? The floo is blocked or busy; no calls are going through at all."

"Then we can't do anything but wait," Moira said briskly. She found an open couch and made herself comfortable.

"What do you mean?" Ella asked her quietly.

"It'll become obvious to everyone eventually that we've been locked down by a higher power, not by some prankster. It isn't likely that we'll break though a seal put on by someone in authority, so we might at well wait comfortably. All I hope is that whoever it is remembers to feed us sometime."

They all realized the logic behind Moira's statement and found seats of their own. As the time passed, most everyone in the common room settled down and found things to occupy themselves—starting chess games, cards, and other activities, while the diehards at the door continued to debate and attempt more esoteric spells. Moira nodded significantly at Ella when eight o'clock arrived, and Ella slipped off to take her potion.

When the announcement from the Department of Mysteries echoed through the common room and down the spiral staircase from the dorms, a great many questions were answered, but far more were raised. All through breakfast, the members of Ravenclaw debated on the nature of the raid, the timing necessary to implement it, and the legal ramifications of conducting such a raid without approval of the Ministry, and Ella came to realize something about the House of which she was now a member. The House of logic, knowledge, and understanding loved nothing more than an unsolvable problem that they could discuss, debate, and create ivory tower solutions to. They likely would have continued debating what little facts they held through lunch, dinner, and probably all night long, but they were prevented by the simple fact that the door opened.

Eight people walked into the room: four men and four women. They were all dressed in matching robes, a uniform of some sort, Ella assumed. They formed a loose half circle facing the assembled students and calmly waited for them to quiet down and give their undivided attention. When that happened, one woman stepped forward.

"We are here to conduct the interviews and search of your rooms. You will be called in for a personal interview one at a time, and we ask that you remain in your common room to expedite the process. If we confiscate any items that are in your personal possession, we will inform you in your interview."

Four of the people headed up the stairs, while the others created an interview space in the common room. Nearly half an hour passed before the four interviewers randomly selected the first to be questioned.

The day dragged on as four at a time were called over to be questioned, and once released, the person would only shake his or her head when asked about the process. When Ella was called in, she nervously walked over to the table she'd been motioned to and sat facing one of the women. When she'd taken her place, the murmured conversations in the room cut off, though Ella could still see the mouths on the nearest people moving. She thought there must be some sort of privacy spell, which cut off the sound between the room and the table. She turned back to the woman who sat holding a quill in one hand, a piece of parchment in front of her, and a strange glowing crystal between them on the table.

"Please state your name for the record," the woman said, all business.

"Ella Dafydd," Ella replied. The crystal darkened slightly.

"Your full name please," the woman said again.

"Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd," Ella said, watching the crystal. The bright glow returned, and the woman nodded.

"The device on the table is a truth stone. It can tell if you are telling the truth, lying, or equivocating in any way. I will make note whenever you lie, and if you are not sufficiently honest on your own, you will be given a potion that will ensure your honesty. To calibrate the crystal, please say one utter truth about yourself, followed by one complete lie."

Ella considered for a moment, then said, "I know how to speak six languages. My mother is the queen of England." The crystal flared and then darkened to the dimmest glow.

"Very well. Please explain your background, Wizarding or Muggle."

Ella managed to stop a laugh. What a convoluted question that was. "I was raised as a Muggle. My father is a Muggle, and my mother is a Squib. She is unaware of that fact, though, because her mother, a witch, had chosen to give up magic and live as a Muggle."

The woman made several notes, glancing at the crystal to judge the magnitude of the glow. Then, she caused Ella's heart to skip several beats when she placed the case holding her potions on the table.

"Do you recognize this case?" the woman asked. Ella could only nod.

"Please, for the record, tell me what is in this case, and why you are in possession of such items."

Ella swallowed and said quietly, "That case holds my doses of Aque Curativo potion, which I was prescribed by a mediwitch, to treat injuries I sustained this summer." She sent a silent plea that nothing would happen to the phials of potion. The woman nodded and placed the case back on the floor.

"Thank you for your candor. Your case will be returned to your room, and you may go."

"That's it?" Ella asked, surprised.

"Did you wish for more?" the woman asked blandly. Ella shook her head and rose from the table, glad the interview had been so easy.

XxX

Not all the interviews had been so painless. Snape had been questioned, re-questioned, had his personal quarters, office, and classroom searched, and endured all manner of accusations. He'd been asked to show where his volatile and restricted ingredients were stored and told to explain how he prevented pilfering and tampering. He'd had to sit there and listen as a junior potions brewer lectured him—_him_!—on potions safety and proper disposal techniques. When they finally, grudgingly, let him go, he immediately stalked to Dumbledore's office.

He found that he was the last Head of House to make it to the headmaster's office, and the others seemed no less ruffled. _Well, well, well,_ he thought._ I guess it wasn't a personal attack, then._ He waited for the hand-waving and finger-pointing to die down before he leveled his own attack at Dumbledore.

"All I want to know is this," he said quietly. "Did you plan this, old man?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Of course not! Do you think I would have chosen to be confined to my own quarters, questioned by some shadowy agency, and accused of using this school to brainwash children to my personal ideologies?" His eyes flashed with righteous anger. "Yes, I wanted to do much the same as what has happened today, but in a way that didn't leave the students thinking I was accusing them of wrongdoing."

Snape allowed a small smirk to cross his face. "Well, as far as my House is concerned, you accomplished your objective."

"Whatever do you mean, Severus?" McGonagall asked.

"It's simple, really. Whoever had to interview my students and check them for Dark Marks would have become the enemy. This little raid means it wasn't us accusing them, it was someone outside of the school. So long as you get the information you need from the Department, we will be ahead, at least in Slytherin House."

Dumbledore sat back and considered the situation. "Well, indeed, had I realized that, I would have tried to have something like this to happen. And because we were all caught by surprise, it will be clear that this was none of my doing. We shall take advantage of this. Is there anything else, then?"

McGonagall leaned forward. "I don't suppose that any of you have finished with your new student files? I would like to get the caution and warning file out to all professors as soon as possible."

Every year, when the new students were Sorted into their Houses, the Heads of House would be given any information the Ministry had about them on file. It was the responsibility of the Head of House to decide if there was anything in that file that the other professors needed to know about. That information was then compiled by McGonagall and sent around in a file to caution professors against placing a student in an uncomfortable situation, or to warn them about potential problems. This year there had been a greater number of files as more students were impacted negatively by the war.

"What else were we to do while we waited for our turns to be interrogated?" Snape asked. "Mine will be on your desk as soon as they lift the transporting wards."

Flitwick dug into the satchel he always carried. "I'm finished, as well," he said, handing the finished files to McGonagall.

Sprout flushed and said, "I'll have mine to you tonight."

Dumbledore smiled at them all. "If that is all, then, I'll bid you a good afternoon. The person in charge of this raid has assured me that they will finish all interviews today, but they are not going to let the students out until tomorrow morning. So, in the morning we will proceed normally, with handing out schedules and starting classes. I will see you all for breakfast."

As they filed out of the office, Snape turned back and watched as Dumbledore turned to the window. It could have been his imagination, but Snape could have sworn he saw the headmaster's face fall into deeply worried lines, while he considered the grounds of Hogwarts, which he had sworn to protect.

XxX

A/N: Here we are! 31 chapters in, and we are now heading into the school year. Once again, HBP doesn't exsist in my story arc, so I will continue in my happy little world where things can go the way I want them to. thank you for reading my story!


	32. School Daze

**32. School Daze**

The next morning, Ella followed much the same schedule. She woke early, dressed, and talked with Moira while everyone else slept as late as possible. On the way down the stairs, Meagan offered to come back for Ella's books, since they wouldn't receive their schedules until that morning at breakfast, and Ella gratefully accepted the offer. In the common room they were met by three boys, all Rosemary's friends.

The first boy, who was tall and slender, gave a theatrical bow. "Greetings to you all on this fine morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and best of all," he paused dramatically, "the door to the castle opens." They all laughed at his melodramatic pose.

"Will you walk with us, boys?" Rosemary asked.

"Actually, we were going to offer you one better," the shortest of the three boys said. "We noticed that your newest little sister has some difficulty with stairs, and we wanted to offer our assistance." He smiled at Ella, who felt her face heat with a fierce blush before looking away. She felt everyone's eyes on her and hated the attention.

"That sounds great, Taylor," Rosemary answered before Ella could turn down the offer. "It's very sweet of you to think of Ella."

With that they left the common room, Ella trailing behind, feeling very small and young surrounded by these older students. She'd rather have made her own way down the stairs, even if it took her longer, than get this kind of attention from boys, which until a fortnight before would have earned her a beating like none she'd ever received. She couldn't think of a way to refuse without a lengthy explanation.

At the top of the stairs, Rosemary and Opal helped to boost Ella to Taylor's back. Her left leg stuck out at an awkward angle, and she struggled not to cringe at the feel of the boy's hands on her legs as he carried her down the stairs. At the bottom she was let down, and Aubrey handed her the cane she'd carried for Ella.

She once again followed the group of older students, this time into the Great Hall. There she gratefully found Vivanne holding a place for her, with the other Ravenclaws her age. Breakfast was served, and halfway through, the owl mail arrived. Ella was surprised to receive two packages that morning. The larger box was from Shelly, filled with treats for the start of the school year, with a chatty letter wishing her well. The smaller box held an ornate pocket watch and a short note.

_As promised._

Ella smiled and ignored Vivianne's curious look. She slipped the watch into her pocket and sneaked a look at the head table. Her uncle was seated at the end, talking to Professor Mithrandir. He seemed to notice her glance and acknowledged it with a slight nod. She smiled again in return, a small smile that no one noticed except for its recipient.

Timetables were passed out near the end of breakfast. Ella looked over hers. Most of her classes met only two or three times a week, which she was sure meant there would be a lot of homework in between. As students filed out of the Great Hall to get their books, Meagan intercepted her and snatched her schedule from her hand.

"You could have asked," Ella muttered.

Meagan tossed her hair back over her shoulders. "I could have, but I didn't. Wait here for me, and I'll bring your books for your morning classes, we'll switch them out at lunch for the afternoon. I'll see you in a bit." She trotted off, leaving Ella standing alone in the Entrance Hall.

Ella passed the time waiting for her books looking at the pictures and suits of armor that lined the walls of the hall. She staggered back in shock when a group of ghosts appeared suddenly through a wall. One stately woman noticed her and floated towards Ella, away from the rest of the ghosts.

"Have you lost your way?" the woman asked.

"No, milady," Ella replied, recognizing the Grey Lady from Ravenclaw Tower. "I'm waiting for a friend." The lady smiled and nodded a kind farewell to Ella.

The ghosts went on their way, discussing events, school gossip, and their opinions of the possible results of the House Cup competition that coming year.

Ella found a place to sit on a stone bench and hoped that Meagan would return quickly. She didn't want to be late for her first class.

She was startled from her thoughts when a group of boys passed her in the hall, stopped, and began talking and sending glances her way. From the badges on their robes, they were all from Gryffindor, and Ella guessed that they were second or third years. She didn't know why they were so interested in her, or in something around her; she tried to look around to see what was drawing their interest, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A laugh from one of the boys brought her eyes back to them.

"Look at her Highness, waiting for her maidservant to bring her school things. Do you think if we bowed, she'd let us approach?" The boys all laughed, and Ella looked down. Why were they saying something like that? What had she done to them?

Their teasing was interrupted by Meagan's return. She handed Ella's books to her and led her away, leaving the laughing boys behind.

"Ignore them, they're just idiot boys," she advised Ella. "If you give them a reaction, they'll keep teasing you. If you blow them off, they'll stop." She pointed down a hallway. "Your classroom is down there. I'll see you at lunch, all right?"

Ella nodded and set off, catching up with several first year Ravenclaw girls, including Vivianne. They entered the History of Magic classroom and found seats near the front of the room.

Ella felt a wave of excitement flow through her; this was the first class of her first year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was something special for her in the beginning of a school year, and now, she had seven years to look forward to.

The conversation in the classroom died down when Professor Rogers entered. She carried with her a stack of books and dropped them with a thud on her desk. She faced the class and sat on the edge of her desk while she called roll.

"Right then, I'm Professor Rogers, and I'm as new to this school as you are. I'm a researcher rather than a teacher, and my field is historical and cultural anthropology. What that means is I study people—where they came from, their traditions, their history from their point of view—and I try to help others understand who they are. For the next seven years, I will be sharing my research and experiences with you and hopefully helping you to understand the history of the wizarding world and your role therein." She paused to look over the students and smiled at their intense attention to her words.

"I am a firm believer that to truly understand events in history, we must know how seemingly unrelated events can have great impact one on the other. As such, you will all become masters of the timeline. Under your desk, you will find a parchment that has been charmed to expand to fit any timeline, and that will allow you to make alterations and additions as the class progresses. Take care of your parchment; you will be using it all year." She waited while they all found their rolls of parchment. When they were all settled again, she pointed her wand at the wall and traced a glowing blue line around the room.

"We're going to begin with where we are right now. Someone tell me a fact about Hogwarts, or an event that took place in the school, and let's begin tracing the history. You do need to record this on your parchments."

As the class began rummaging in their bags for quills and ink, there was a gasp and a startled scream from the back.

"What is _that_?" a boy asked, as all eyes turned to the back of the room. A large insect had walked through the still-open door. It was three feet long, and looked to be the size of a golden shepherd. It scurried up the wall and around to the front of the room.

"_That_, as you so succinctly put it, is my familiar. He's a weta, a native of New Zealand. Get over your reactions now because you will see him around the castle. He often runs errands for me. Pippin," she said, turning to the insect, "say hello to the class."

"He doesn't look much like a hobbit," Ella muttered to Vivianne. Professor Rogers, who obviously had very sharp hearing, grinned and replied.

"No, but he accidentally ate my last familiar, who did have pointed ears, furry toes, and a fondness for food and drink. To make up for it, he offered to take his place, including his name. Let me give you a little advice: when a magical creature offers to be your assistant, take him up on the offer. Now, as we were saying…" And she continued for the rest of class, drawing out what little anyone really knew about Hogwarts, then gave them three chapters of _Hogwarts, a History_ to read for homework, with the admonition to record all events by date on their timelines.

XxX

From History of Magic, Ella followed her classmates to Transfiguration, where they had the amazing opportunity to watch Professor McGonagall turn herself into a cat, and her desk into a pig and back. It wasn't as easy as it seemed, though; working off-handed, Ella couldn't even get her matchstick to change color, much less become a needle, though Vivianne did manage to get a sharp point on hers before it accidentally caught fire.

Their morning break was followed by Herbology, a double class they had with Slytherin. Ella looked around in wonder at the large greenhouse, filled with all kinds of magical plants. The class passed quickly, and Ella once again trooped after her classmates on her way to lunch.

By the end of the day, Ella couldn't believe the amount of homework she had received in just one day. Granted, she had several days to finish it, but if she was going to get this kind of workload from every class, there would never be time to do anything besides homework. She wearily climbed the stairs to the tower, and it was with a greatly relieved sigh that she reached the stairs guarding Ravenclaw Tower. She tapped the banister with her wand in the pattern she'd been taught and waited while the stairs moved into position. At the top of the stairs, Ella waved hello to the paintings that flanked the door, the right-hand one of a woman dressed in robes and wearing a sword, the left-hand painting of a scribe seated in a great library.

"You look tired, child. Long day?" asked the scribe.

Ella, who was not in any way used to holding conversations with paintings, still smiled politely. "Yes, Lord Robert, I think it will take some time to get used to the schedule."

"Then off to bed with you. Work done when you are tired is work sloppily done," advised the lady.

"Thank you, Lady Anne; I will happily take your advice."

Ella entered the common room, but she merely waved when Vivianne called her over to the couches she and a few other girls were seated at.

"I'm sorry, Vivianne. I'm just bushed tonight. Some other time, all right?" Ella promised. The girls waved good-night as Ella started up the stairs. She hoped she would adjust to the schedule, as well as the large distances they had to travel between classes soon, or she would become a regular fuddy-duddy. It wasn't even eight o'clock, and she was longing for her bed. Once up at the Crows Nest, Ella dropped her school bag in her wardrobe, changed into her pajamas, and sat reading one of her assignments until her watch told her it was indeed eight and time for her final dose of potion. She took it, crawled into bed, and drew the heavy curtains. She was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow. She was so deeply asleep, she didn't even turn over when Moira peeked through the curtain openings to check on her. Her kifflin curled up next to her on her pillow, and they dreamed the night away.

A/N: Have you ever tried to figure out the class schedules at Hogwarts? From the few clues Rowling gives us, the professors would have to clone themselves to teach all the sections they have to meet with. No wonder they're cranky—they're overworked! And I know, the point of the Harry Potter books is not to lay out a class schedule, or number of students at Hogwarts (though I would be happy to give you my arguments for 10 in a year per house, making 280 students at Hogwarts). Hope you enjoyed. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review. I appreciate your comments.

-Krew


	33. How to Duck

**33. How to Duck**

The next two days went past in a blur for Ella, but each night, she was able to stay awake a little longer as she got used to the schedule. She quickly became accustomed to her strange new classes, but her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class gave her an experience she was never to forget.

Throughout the week, students had been talking about the new Defense teacher. According to many, Professor Mithrandir was "brilliant," though the older students were reserving judgment, certain that, in time, there would be something wrong with this professor, as well.

The first-year Ravenclaws entered the Defense classroom, looking around curiously. There were movable targets, cages holding strange animals, and a large, clear space in the front of the room. Professor Mithrandir was waiting for them, his brown eyes measuring the students carefully as they found seats. Ella felt his eyes on her as she set her cane aside, but when she looked up from taking out her parchment and quill, his glance had moved on. He took roll, commenting on those students who had older siblings in classes he'd already met. When he finished, he laid the scroll on his desk and began to pace the front of the room.

"The purpose of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to teach you to recognize threats from and defend yourself against magic or magical beings whose intent is to bring harm to you or others. Because, you see, there are beings out there who would like nothing more than to bring you pain and suffering.

"There are many ways to defend yourself against Dark Magic. The most powerful weapon you have is your mind. You must train yourself to react quickly and level-headedly to any situation. My job is to make certain that you recognize dangerous situations and to prepare you to deal with those situations to the absolute best of your abilities. Before I can do that, I must know what your natural reaction is to being attacked. One at a time, you will come to the front of the room, and I will throw a curse at you." He held up his hand to stop the outbreak of whispers that erupted. "This is a curse used by Aurors in my country to subdue a suspect who will not willingly surrender. Used with enough force, it can literally throw the recipient through a wall." He grinned at their petrified stares. "I will be using only enough force to give you a good shove backwards, maybe knock you down if you aren't fast on your feet. We will discuss your reactions to the spell once everyone has had a turn. Pay close attention to each other, see if you can find a way to organize their reactions into groups. Nora Jespin, you are first."

A black girl with hundreds of long braids stood, clutching her wand. Professor Mithrandir waved her to the open space in the front of the room.

"In the interest of fair play, I will wait until you have set yourself, but I will not warn you when the spell is being cast. It is a nonverbal spell, but you'll know the spell is coming for you when you see the blue light."

Nora faced the Professor with a look of trepidation on her face. She held her wand up in a ready position and waited.

Suddenly, a streak of blue light came from Professor Mithrandir's wand, straight towards Nora. She sent a blast of magic from her wand, but when it met the blue light, it dissipated, and the light hit Nora. She back-pedaled quickly and was able to keep to her feet. Professor Mithrandir nodded approvingly.

"Good, back to your seat, then. Vivianne Kingslaire, you're next."

"Good luck," Ella whispered.

Vivianne took her place in the front of the room. The attack came faster this time, but Vivianne didn't try to stop the light. Instead, she faced it until the last minute, then turned and leaned sideways so the light flashed past her. Her look of triumph was wiped away, though when the light curved around behind her and hit her in the back. She stumbled forward but managed to turn her fall into a roll, so she was back on her feet quickly.

"That wasn't fair!" she cried out. "It missed me, and you can't attack from behind!"

"And will a Dark Wizard or Witch hesitate to attack you, if you back is turned? This is defense class, not a dueling club with rules," Professor Mithrandir answered her.

It didn't get much better after that. He went through the end of the alphabet and then back to the beginning. One boy tried to defend by attacking Professor Mithrandir first, and a girl managed to reflect the light away with a shield; it would have hit the students sitting in their desks had the professor not absorbed it with a shield of his own. Edmund Bones froze in indecision, and Ralph Peterson tried to swat the light away with his wand, like it was a cricket bat. When Ella's name was called, Vivianne leaned over to her.

"Will you be okay?" she whispered.

"I just have to stop it, don't I?" Ella whispered back. She walked to the front of the room, balanced herself on her good leg and handed her cane to a girl in the front row. She drew her wand with her right hand and took a deep breath. There were several long moments before Professor Mithrandir attacked her, during which Ella watched his eyes. They narrowed just before the light came streaking towards her.

Ella raised her left hand and twisted slightly so that her body was sideways. Her wand came up and pointed towards her hand. The light hit her hand, and Ella bit her lip in pain as her fingers spread painfully.

"No," she whispered, "no further."

Somehow, the light stayed there, in front of her hand. Painfully, Ella closed her fingers slightly, and she began to push the light towards the floor, as though it had become solid. When it was directed straight down, she gave it the strongest push she could, and it slammed into the stone floor with a flash that left her blinking spots away from her eyes.

Breathing heavily, Ella tucked her wand under her left arm and took her cane back from the girl who was holding it. She walked back to her seat in utter silence and dropped into it, more exhausted than she could have explained.

She stared down at her desk as Nicholas Finch-Fletchly successfully dodged the light several times and finally dove behind the teacher's desk, which took the hit for him. When Nicholas sat down, Professor Mithrandir pointed his wand at the board, drawing lines that divided it into columns.

"What groupings would you use to describe the ways you defended yourselves today?" he asked, beginning the discussion.

Ella was barely paying attention to the class as the professor began to group and evaluate the reactions of the different students. Something did not feel right, and she didn't know what it was. She tapped her fingers against her casts, a habit she'd developed in the last few days and realized that the wrapping on her hand had lost all of its rigidity, feeling instead like the soft bandage it actually was. She glanced down, barely containing a gasp. Her left hand was drawing into a claw, the fingers twisting and curving in ways she was sure was not right. As the class went on, Ella felt continually worse, with flashes of pain coming from different areas of her body. She was startled back to attention when Vivianne hissed her name. She looked up to see Professor Mithrandir gazing at her. She bit her lip.

"Miss Dafydd, the question was, when you deflected the spell that way, did it hurt?" he said quietly.

Ella's eyes darted around to her classmates, who were turning in their seats to look at her. "A little," she admitted, "but I though that was less important that stopping the spell from knocking me down."

Professor Mithrandir nodded, and said, "So Miss Dafydd demonstrated for us another element of the magical defense. Let us call it the pragmatic element. She weighed her choices and chose to trade a bit of discomfort for the benefit of staying on her feet. Can anyone else think of an example of pragmatic defense?" Nicholas raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchly?"

"When a Muggle is being attacked, he might choose to accept a flesh wound from a weapon, for the benefit of taking control of the weapon."

"Very good, Mr. Finch-Fletchly, that was a prime example. Now, the first type of defense we are going to focus on is getting out of the way and under cover from flying spells. In other words, how to duck successfully."

When class ended, they had reading to do, but rather than write a paper, they had to list all of the items in the classroom that could be used as cover, should a duel break out. Professor Mithrandir left the classroom right at the end of class, leaving his students to pack their bags and take themselves off to their afternoon break. When Ella didn't move from her chair, Vivianne turned to her in concern.

"What's wrong Ella? You don't look very good."

Ella took a shallow breath, fighting off stronger waves of pain. "I don't know, Vivianne, but something's wrong. I need to go to the hospital ward, but I don't know that I _can_ get there."

Vivianne slipped an arm behind Ella's shoulders and helped to support her as they started out the door. "We'll go nice and slow—don't worry about it," Vivianne told her. They made their way down the hall, but when they reached the stairs, Ella stumbled and would have fallen had Vivianne not been there.

"Come on, Ella, we can't stop here," Vivianne pleaded.

Ella shook her head, still trying to take in enough breath to quell her dizziness. "I don't think I can get up the stairs, Vivianne. It's getting worse." Even with the support from Vivianne she slid down the stair post until she was sitting on the bottom step.

"I'm going to go for help, Ella. Don't do anything stupid, like try to crawl up the stairs. I'll be right back." Ella nodded weakly, holding onto the post as the room spun around her. She closed her eyes as another wave of pain washed over her, gritting her teeth until the pain had receded again. When she opened her eyes, Vivianne was back with her older brother.

Dominick didn't waste any time by asking what had happened. He took Ella's good arm and helped her to her feet. "Get her other side, Anne," he told his sister. With Dominick taking the bulk of her weight and Vivianne supporting her weak side, Ella made it up the stairs and down the long hallway to the hospital ward. By the time they went through the door, Ella was nearly unconscious, fighting to stay awake. The Kingslair siblings set her on one of the beds, and Vivianne called for Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse bustled out of her office, hurrying to Ella's side. "What's happened, here?" She pulled her wand, taking readings of Ella's condition.

"Ella started looking white and said she felt dizzy after Defense Against the Dark Arts class," Vivianne explained to the nurse.

Madame Pomfrey paused in her readings, looking closely at Ella. "What is your name, dear?" she asked Ella.

"Ella Dafydd," she whispered in a weak voice.

Madame Pomfrey immediately jerked her wand away from Ella with a gasp. "Miss Dafydd, I need you to describe your symptoms to me, as best you can, and when, exactly, they started."

Ella closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning. She took the deepest breath she could and explained in a halting voice, "It started after Professor Mithrandir tested us in class. He cast a spell, and we had to stop it or dodge it. I thought I had stopped it, but when I sat down, I started to feel strange. The wrapping around my hand, the one the spell hit, wasn't stiff any more, and my hand was like this." She held up the clawed fingers for Madame Pomfrey to see. "It was like every injury would flare in turn and hurt for just a second or two, but then it would stop for a while. It kept getting worse, though, so I asked Vivianne to help me get here."

Madame Pomfrey had obviously forgotten there were others in the room until Ella mentioned them. She turned back to Vivianne and Dominick, who had been listening to Ella with fascination.

"You both may go. Miss Dafydd will be fine, but I would thank you not to speak with anyone about this." They exchanged a glance but left without arguing. Madame Pomfrey turned back to Ella.

"I'm going to call Doctor Arres and speak with her. When is your next dose of potion due?"

"Four o'clock," Ella whispered.

"I want you to lay here quietly while I speak with the mediwitch. Will you do that for me?"

Ella laughed weakly. I don't think I can do much more than that," she told the nurse. Madame Pomfrey smoothed Ella's hair back, feeling her forehead for temperature. Ella's skin was clammy, and her pulse, when Madame Pomfrey checked it, was racing. She hurried to the fireplace and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames. The flames turned green, and Madame Pomfrey stuck her head through to call for Doctor Arres. Thankfully, the mediwitch was available and responded quickly to the call.

"How can I help you, Madame Pomfrey?" she asked, coming close to the fire. "Is Miss Dafydd all right?"

"No, Doctor Arres; that's why I'm calling you. A professor disregarded the restrictions on casting spells on Miss Dafydd, and she is here in the hospital ward reporting feelings of dizziness, pain, and weakness. I would like to invite you here to Hogwarts to treat her, considering her delicate medical state."

The mediwitch seemed a little taken aback at the generous offer but accepted it immediately. "I'll Apparate to the gates of Hogwarts straight away."

"When you reach the gates, tap the fourth stone on the right gatepost with your wand. You will recognize it by the caduceus carved on the stone. When you do, I will be notified, and I'll open the emergency passageway from the front gate to the hospital ward. You'll arrive much sooner that way," Madame Pomfrey offered.

"Thank you. While I'm gathering my things, I would like you also to call for Miss Dafydd's Head of House and your school's Potions master. We may need reinforcements if things have come too far apart." She turned to go but abruptly spun back. "Also, invite that professor who did this. I'm sure he'll want to help, to make restitution." She spun away again but not before Madame Pomfrey caught a gleam of anger in the mediwitch's eye. She did not envy Professor Mithrandir his coming interview with Doctor Arres. Of course, she was going to have to get into line, once word got out.

Pity, he'd seemed so capable when she'd first met him.

XxX

Two floors down, Alexi Mithrandir strode into the teacher's lounge and sank into a wingback chair with a satisfied, but tired, sigh.

"The children wearing you out, Alexi?" Professor Flitwick asked with a chuckle.

"I had no idea full time teaching could be this exhausting. I've trained recruits before, but this is unbelievable," he complained.

Flitwick chuckled as he levitated a cup of tea across the table. "The first week is the worst," he assured the younger man. "How are you classes going? I've heard the students whispering in the halls about your unusual opening class activity and the first assignment. Shake things up, I always say."

Mithrandir smiled into his tea. "It isn't so much about shaking things up, as seeing what I have to work with, what their reaction time and instinctive response is. Some of the older students are exceedingly skilled with their shielding, but some of the younger students…" He trailed off.

"Yes, well, some of those younger students haven't had much in the way of instruction. Last year's teacher left some of them worse off than when they started," Flitwick explained.

"Whatever did happen to her?" Mithrandir asked. "I heard rumors about feeding her to your centaur herd."

Flitwick laughed outright. "Nothing so extreme. She was a little rough-handled by them, but what do you expect when one marches up to them and calls them filthy half-breeds to their faces?" They both chuckled at the picture. "No, she's back at her old post in the Ministry, for some reason. Personally, I thought she should have been sacked after what she did, but it wasn't up to me. So," he continued, "do you think you can whip them into shape?"

"Given time, and assuming, of course, that none are complete incompetent." His assurances were interrupted by Snape's entrance.

"That is quite an assumption for some of these idiots," Snape said, dropping into a chair.

"Tea, Severus?" Flitwick asked, holding up the pot."

Snape shook his head. "One of the third year Hufflepuffs just exploded a cauldron of wart remover all over me. If I add tea to the counter-potion, I'll turn a spectacular shade of orange. No, thank you."

"Are you sure, Snape? It could be rather interesting," Mithrandir said with a smirk.

"No, but I could turn you orange, if you think it so amusing," Snape offered.

"So, how exactly are you evaluating their reaction time and instincts?" Flitwick asked Mithrandir. "I haven't had the excuse to corner a student and get the full story from any of them."

"I've been using a light version of a spell we use in Russia to take down fleeing suspects. The full strength spell would knock an elephant head over heels, but for the children, it gives them a bit of a shove if they can't shield or get out of the way. A few have ended up on their rear ends, but no one is the worse for wear.'

Flitwick raised an eyebrow at that. "So what are you going to do with Miss Dafydd when she comes to your class?"

Mithrandir looked blank. "Who?" he asked.

"Miss Dafydd, the first-year Ravenclaw with medical limitations—no spells or physical training for a month," Flitwick expained. "When do you have my first years?"

"I just finished with them," Mithrandir said. "Which one was Miss Dafydd?"

"She would be the only child using a cane to get around. Do you mean to tell me that you hit her with that spell? How could you? Didn't you see and sign the memo?" Flitwick looked aghast.

"What memo?" Mithrandir asked. "There was a pile of parchment on my desk literally three feet high when I arrived. I've only begun to make a dent in it. I don't remember seeing anything about a Miss Dafydd, or I wouldn't have made her attempt the exercise."

Snape let out the breath he'd been holding very, very slowly. It wouldn't do for him to strangle the man until he knew how Ella was.

"And?" he said quietly.

"And what?" Mithrandir said.

"What happened?" Snape said through gritted teeth. "Was she hit by your spell, knocked down, or what?"

"It was most curious, really. She stopped the spell, but it wasn't by any traditional counter-spells. I think she managed to perform unfocused magic, even while holding her wand, which should have been impossible. It's the only way I can explain what happened," Mithrandir told them.

"And what was that?" Flitwick asked.

"The spell is visible as stream of light. She stopped it just in front of her hand and somehow redirected it into the floor. It was unlike anything I've ever seen. It looked painful, but when I asked, she said it did hurt, but only a little, so I left it at that rather than putting her on the spot. She looked fine when I left, though, so you don't need to worry."

In horror Snape looked at Mithrandir. The man hadn't intended any harm, but he couldn't possibly have done more if he'd tried. "It hurt a _little_, Mithrandir? That child is on a class-four pain potion—she shouldn't feel _anything_, even if you stabbed her through the hand. Not only that, but if you had read the file you were given, you would know that Miss Dafydd has been the victim of abuse for most of her life. Her definition of 'a little pain' is probably on par with yours or mine."

Mithrandir paled. "I didn't know," he said, obviously shaken. " I swear I didn't know. She looked fine, but I should check on her or have her go to the Hospital Ward. How can I find her?" He looked between Snape and Flitwick, his eyes wide. "I have to apologize to her, make sure she isn't hurt."

Flitwick opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, the fireplace roared to life with green flames. "Professors Snape, Flitwick, and Mithrandir to the Hospital Ward, _immediately,_" Madame Pomfrey's voice snapped with command. With a sense of foreboding, the three men left the teacher's lounge to answer the summons.

XxX

A/N: Hello, thank you for reading down to the end of the chapter. Thank you also to those of you who replied, and to those who pointed out my little mistakes, I will fix them eventually. I am glad you are reading closely enough to catch my errors, it means you are really reading my story. Hope you enjoy this humble offering. -Krew


	34. Consequences

**34. Consequences**

Ella's condition continued to worsen as she waited for Doctor Arres to arrive. Madame Pomfrey, afraid of making things worse, wasn't able to do anything except make her as comfortable as possible, propping her up with pillows to ease her breathing, covering her with a warm blanket when she shuddered with chills, and putting up privacy screens to prevent passers-by from getting an eyeful. The three summoned professors arrived at the same time as Doctor Arres. When she came around the screen, Ella greeted her with a weak smile.

"What have we here?" the mediwitch asked, pulling her wand. She scanned Ella carefully, while Madame Pomfrey hovered over her shoulder. When she finished, she pulled a chair close to Ella's bed and sat down.

"Ella, it looks like whatever spell your professor used has thrown the balance off on the matrix holding your healing spells together. The fluctuation of power is interfering with the potion, which is why you're dizzy and are sensing pain. I am going to have to re-set all of the spells, and the matrix, but I can't do anything until the potion wears off. You're due for your next dose at four, correct?"

"Yes," Ella whispered.

Doctor Arres laid her hand on Ella's arm. "I'm not going to lie to you, Ella; this is probably going to get worse before I can make it better, and I can't give you anything until the potion is out of your system. Will you be able to hold on until then?"

Ella smiled again. "Do I have a choice?" she quipped in a weak voice.

Doctor Arres patted her arm. "Not really, but it's better that you know, and are ready for it. I'm going to go out to talk to your professors, but if you need me, call."

She whisked around the screen, but the thin material did little to stop the sound of their voices.

XxX

When they entered the hospital wing and saw the mediwitch, Snape knew his fears were correct. Something had gone wrong with Ella. When she swept behind the screen, he turned to Flitwick and Mithrandir.

"That answers the question as to whether Miss Dafydd was worse for wear from Defense class today, doesn't it?" he commented, with a glare for Mithrandir.

"What do you mean, Severus?" Flitwick asked.

"Why else would we be called here, along with an outside mediwitch?" Snape pointed out. "You or I could have been called for any of our students, but the only reason he would be here"—he gestured to Mithrandir—"is because it is Miss Dafydd, unless you damaged some other child this afternoon?" He raised an eyebrow, but Mithrandir's response was cut off by the mediwitch's return.

Snape felt his heart sink when Rebecca Arres came out from examining Ella. Her jaw was set tightly and her eyes looked grave.

"Will Miss Dafydd be all right?" Flitwick asked quietly. "It _is_ Miss Dafydd, correct?"

Rebecca nodded and sighed heavily. "We're playing a waiting game right now. Until the pain potion she's taking wears off, we can't do anything. But if the spells fail completely before the potion's effects wear off, she's going to be in a very tight situation."

"What can we do to help?" asked Mithrandir.

Rebecca considered him coldly. "I think _you_ have done enough already. How dare you ignore a medical directive and damage a child this way!" She rounded on Flitwick. "How could anyone at this school allow someone like this," she gestured at Mithrander, "to have access to children! I will be speaking with Headmaster Dumbledore regarding his immediate dismissal."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Doctor Arres," came a voice from the door.

Snape turned to face Dumbledore, who had entered the Hospital ward during Rebecca's last speech.

"It was not with malice that Miss Dafydd was injured," Dumbledore continued, "but through ignorance. While I do not excuse it, I must make allowances for it, and accept my part in this accident. After all, I did not make certain that Professor Mithrandir had read all of the essential notices when he arrived at Hogwarts." He held up his hand to forestall Rebecca's protest. "I will withhold my judgment until the situation is resolved. After all, should Miss Dafydd suffer no long-term ill effects, it would hardly be right to punish Professor Mithrandir so harshly. Let us focus on more important things."

Rebecca spun on Snape. "I can't believe _you're_ taking this so calmly," she accused him.

Snape contained a flinch and kept his face impassive. "I should hardly see why I need to be worked up. I'm here only because you called for a Potions master." He sent the mediwitch a Look, which she thankfully interpreted correctly. He continued, "Though I wouldn't care to guess what the child's uncle will think of the whole situation."

Dumbledore smiled enigmatically. "Also something that should wait until the situation is resolved. I must insist on prudence until something else is warranted."

Mithrandir dragged a hand over his face. "I don't know that you need to wait, headmaster. I've injured a student, and whether it be from malice, ignorance, or foolishness, the result is the same. If it would be easier, I'll submit my resignation."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, and he snapped, "This is not the time or the place to discuss such egotistical nonsense. It will be dealt with when the time is right, and not a moment before. Do you understand!" Only silence answered him, which was just has he'd planned. "Now, Doctor Arres, what can we do that would be productive?"

"It all depends on what I find when the potion wears off. It's been a fortnight since the incident, thus my hope is that the immediately life-threatening injuries have been fully healed. No matter what state of healing has been attained, I'll have to reset the matrix to balance the healing spells. Professor Snape, I will need you to gather whatever medical potions you have prepared; Professor Flitwick, if you could send someone to get Ella's potion from her room, we'll need that when we're finished." She turned to Madame Pomfrey, "Is there anyone in the school who knows more than field-healing spells?"

"I do," Mithrandir answered quietly, before Madame Pomfrey had the chance. "I hold a junior healer's certificate in Russia."

Rebecca considered him carefully. "Will you follow directions this time, to the letter and without argument?" she asked coldly.

He flinched, but answered without hesitation, "I will."

"Keep me informed," Dumbledore said, as he left the Hospital ward.

Snape went to the potion supply cabinet as Rebecca began quizzing Mithrandir on his experience and going over procedures they may have to use. He stacked a tray with potions and brought them back over to the mediwitch. Rebecca looked over them with surprise.

"This is a much more extensive collection than I would have expected," she commented.

"You would be amazed at what a castle full of teenagers can do to themselves. All of the potions are still active; the cabinet is spelled to destroy any that expire or destabilize."

"Excellent." Rebecca took the tray of potions behind the screen. "Get ready," she called. "The potion is wearing off faster than normal. We'll begin soon."

Snape followed her behind the screen, and once there, he had to bite his tongue to keep from exclaiming. Ella lay on the bed, propped up by pillows, a blanket covering her. She was extremely pale and seemed to be struggling to hold back a cry of pain. As the potion wore off her bruises reappeared, and she uttered one groan before she passed out. Rebecca scanned her quickly, muttering under her breath. She turned to the waiting professors and began giving orders.

"The matrix has held together, but it is rapidly failing. When I end it, all of the healing spells will collapse as well. Madame Pomfrey, I will need you to monitor her breathing and heart rate, and should her vital signs fall while I am doing the other repairs, let me know immediately, and do what you must to revive her. Professor Mithrandir, as I set each healing spell, I will weave it into a new matrix. I need you to monitor the spells and the matrix because they will be very fragile until I am finished. Should one fail, tell me, or the matrix will collapse again. Ordinarily I monitor the matrix, but without a team, I need to cast the spells that were previously used. Don't try to change anything, just monitor and tell me if things aren't balancing. Professor Snape, please administer whatever potions I ask for, and keep track. Should I ask for a potion that will react badly with one you've already given her, tell me. Is everyone ready?" The professors and Madame Pomfrey nodded and moved into position.

Rebecca waved her wand, and the work began. Snape stood by, waiting for her to call for potions, listening to the spells she used. With a fortnight of healing, the life-threatening injuries had indeed stabilized, making Ella's condition serious, rather than critical. He dutifully poured the potions Rebecca called for down Ella's throat, keeping watch for adverse reactions. His concentration was broken when Madame Pomfrey demanded that he and Mithrandir leave the screened area. He realized that Rebecca would have to re-seal all of the lacerations on Ella's back, which could not be done through clothing. They complied, and when Mithrandir looked to him inquiringly, he shrugged and continued handing potions around the screen with Rebecca asked for them.

An hour had passed in concentrated effort when Rebecca declared her work finished. Flitwick handed over Ella's potion case, and for the second time, she was given the drops needed to catch her up with her potion. Soon afterward, she was awake and aware once again. She opened her eyes and looked around.

"Wow," she said quietly, "it is amazing how wonderful normal feels." She tried to sit up and was surprised when Rebecca pushed her back into the pillows with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Let's take it easy for just a moment more and let the spells and potions set for a moment, shall we?" the mediwitch remarked.

Ella laid back with a sigh. Snape stood so she could see him clearly and gave her a solemn nod, the only communication he felt he could safely give her at the moment. She lowered her eyes, then raised them to meet his again. Snape turned to Rebecca.

"If that is all you need from me, I have work to do," he said and swept out of the room.

XxX

Ella sighed again, this time with frustration, as her uncle left the hospital ward. Drat the need for secrecy, she wanted to talk to someone who really knew what was going on! It was only days into the school year, and already the lies and subterfuges were driving her mad. This wasn't like St. Catherine's, which she left every day and could leave her secrets behind. Here, she was always surrounded by people, always having to watch her words, never being able to find a place to just be alone and think.

She looked up and saw that both Professor Mithrandir and Professor Flitwick looked like they were waiting to talk to her. She straightened in the bed and turned her head to them. Tiny Professor Flitwick approached her first.

"How are you feeling, Miss Dafydd?" he asked her

"Much better, sir. I'm sorry for all the trouble," Ella apologized.

"There's no need for you to be sorry; none of this was your fault," Professor Flitwick said quickly, with a glance over his shoulder.

"Indeed, the fault rests entirely with me," Professor Mithrandir interjected. "Had I paid better attention to information given to me, you would not have been placed into any danger or discomfort. Please accept my apologies."

Ella could only gape at her professor. Never, in her entire life, had she seen or heard a man claim fault for anything. She had expected to be blamed for making him look bad—not that she could have spoken up in class and contradicted him, or refused to follow his direction, but the blame should be hers. Wasn't that the way things worked?

_You are going to find many things that are always and never true aren't really_, Shelly's voice floated through Ella's mind.

_Go away,_ Ella thought,_ you didn't tell me the truth, either._

She realized that Professor Mithrandir was waiting for a response from her. She met his eyes for a moment, but had to look away. "Please don't, sir," she said quietly, "you don't have to apologize to me." There was an outraged noise from the side, where Madame Pomfrey and Doctor Arres were standing, but Madame Pomfrey bustled the mediwitch out before she could say anything.

There was an awkward pause, and finally Professor Mithrandir left without saying more. Professor Flitwick waited for Ella to look up again, and when she did, he patted her on the hand and wished her a good evening before he also left. Ella looked over at the windows and realized that it truly was going on towards evening and that she had missed her afternoon study period. Madame Pomfrey came back alone, and she briskly helped Ella gather her bag and cane.

"Well, all's well that ends well, I always say. You're no worse for the wear and can go if you feel ready. Remember to come back if anything else goes wrong, but we shall hope that nothing else will. Off with you now, Miss Dafydd, and good evening!" Madame Pomfrey bustled away again.

Ella stood and made her way alone to the dorm, where she dropped off her bag and neatened her hair in the mirror. She took a deep breath, reveling in the silence, squared her shoulders, and headed down the stairs again. On her way through the common room a voice stopped her.

"Are you all right?" Vivianne asked, rising from the chair where she'd been reading.

Ella smiled at the girl. "Yes, I'm fine. It was just that something happened when I deflected that spell in class and messed up one of the healing spells that was still working on my injuries from my car accident. I'm sorry if I scared you."

"I'm just glad you're fine," Vivianne replied. "Want to go down to dinner with me?" she offered.

Ella agreed, and the two girls made their way through the castle to the Great Hall together.

XxX

A/N: Thanks again for your kind reviews. Chapter 28's little mistake has been fixed, though that is the only change. Look for Snape's reaction in the next chapter. After all, he's much too much of a professional to break cover in public. There are seven more major scenes/episodes/events left in the story, though I don't know how many chapters that breaks down into. Just a little look forward. Enjoy!


	35. Making Connections

**35. Making Connections**

Snape watched from the shadows as Mithrandir left the Hospital Ward and turned to go to Dumbledore's office. The man's face had fallen in worried lines, and Snape was glad to see that he was troubled by the damage he'd done. That wasn't enough, though, so Snape silently traveled in his wake until they reached a deserted corridor.

Mithrandir stopped and asked without turning back, "What do you want?"

Snape closed the distance between them and slammed Mithrandir up against the stone wall. He braced his forearm against the other man's neck and regarded him closely.

"A word, Mithrandir, just a word."

Dark eyes met dark as Snape stared down the other man. "An old friend of mine happens to be Miss Dafydd's uncle, and he entrusted the child to me while she's at Hogwarts. He is not a gentle man, and where Miss Dafydd is concerned, he is especially unforgiving. As the child is my responsibility, _I_ will be called into account for your actions today, and I do not like being put into that situation. I will not be forced into such a position again. Do we understand each other?"

He took enough pressure off of Mithrandir's throat so that the man could answer him. Mithrandir had gone perfectly still while Snape was speaking, and he did not waste time before responding.

"Perfectly," he said quietly.

Snape released him and swept away through the halls, leaving Mithrandir to straighten his robes and continue to his appointment with Dumbledore.

XxX

Snape sat down at his desk in his personal quarters and opened the drawer where he kept his writing materials. The most important thing when writing as Ella's Uncle Sev was to ensure that nothing connected Sev's letters to Hogwarts. He took out a box of paper that was used by potions researchers; it absorbed only certain inks and nothing else—very useful around bubbling cauldrons. Most potions masters used little else for writing and went through cases every year. His opportunity for research here at Hogwarts had been so limited that the single ream of paper given to him when he had completed his Mastery still had two-thirds of its contents. He drew out a capped bottle of hand-made ink, the black mutation of the scarlet ink he used when grading papers. It was a true black, no spots of brown or rust visible from the iron gall. Ink like this was also the mark of a potions master, but Snape used it rarely, feeling no need to remind the other professors at Hogwarts that a top Potions Master was wasting his time teaching at such an elementary level. Some day, when this was all over, should he actually survive the end of the war, he would leave Hogwarts and find work that was worthy of his talents. It was a promise he'd made when he first stepped through the doors of Hogwarts as a professor, and he'd found no reason to change that promise to himself yet.

He took out a fresh quill and trimmed the end to a slanted point. He'd decided that "Sev" would write with an angled calligraphy, totally different from Snape's usual scrawl. He drew the paper towards himself, dipped his pen in the ink, and began.

_Dear Ella,_

_I am sorry for waiting to write to you, but I have had several unavoidable delays in the last few weeks._

_I returned to my wilderness home to find that many things had changed. I do not know if it has been changing over time and I had not recognized it due to familiarity, or if it truly changed over a few short days. The swamp where I make my home has become unknown to me. Paths that used to take me safely over solid ground now lead to sinkholes and quicksand, and I have seen evidence of new dark creatures hunting for unwary prey in the waters. Because of this, activities that were very simple have become time-consuming and difficult._

_Many have asked my why I continue to live in a place that is so inclement and dangerous, but all I can answer is that the treasures that I find here are rare and thus priceless._

_There are many times that I become so involved in my swamplands that I lose track of the surrounding area. I will have to tell you sometime of the endless plains and deep canyons I have found, but I am sure I am boring you already,_

_And even if she isn't bored, I am, _thought Snape.

_I do want to tell you of one other thing, though, and that is the mountains that stand guard over the edge of the wetlands. They seem to be tall and forbidding, but I have found that if I follow the paths others have made to the summit, the view of the surrounding lands, the big picture, if you will, is more than worth the effort. If I could show you anything, it would be that view. Keeping the grander scheme in mind helps prevent one from becoming so entrenched in daily work or routine._

_I am curious to hear of Hogwarts from you, your thoughts and impressions of the old place. Tell me about your House, the allies and enemies you've made, and your opinion of the professors. If you recall, I am acquainted with your Potions professor, Snape. If the grumpy old bat seems a bit interested in you, it is because I've asked him to keep an eye on you for me. After all, it just wouldn't do for me to toss you into the politics of the Wizarding world without some kind of mentor. If he doesn't do a good job, be sure to tell me. After all, he did give me his word to watch over you._

_The daylight grows short, so I must end this letter for now. Take care, and watch your back—not everyone is as nice a fellow as me._

_Affectionately,_

_Uncle Sev._

_P.S. Send your reply back with this owl. He knows the way, and for some reason, other birds get lost when they try to find me. –S-_

Snape cleaned up his materials and regarded the letter critically. On the surface it was trite, but there was enough to create a kind of code through which he could pass advice and information to Ella. It would not be too strange for a recluse to write constantly about the land surrounding him, as there would be no people to write about. Then should he need to, he could warn her about danger through a seemingly random letter. Also, it would seem strange if Ella only communicated with her uncle through her Potions professor. Thankfully, there was a way for him to deliver the letter without suspicion. There was an owl service, available to anyone with the means to pay, that could deliver letters using anonymous owls. One would send the letter to the service using a regular owl, wrapped in another envelope. The outer wrapping would be removed upon receipt, and the letter forwarded to the recipient. If a reply was expected, a second wrapping would be sent, to cover the return envelope. The service was used for many reasons—sensitive political communications, blackmail, surprise gifts, and assignations were only a few. The high cost ensured the blind eye of the owners, and it was guaranteed that their owls could not be traced or followed. If they were, the compensation was quadruple the annual fee for unlimited service—a grand sum indeed.

He wrapped the plain, simple covering around the letter and handed it to his owl.

"Off to the Emporium, and wait for a reply, if you like," he told the owl. It ruffled its feathers and took off with a disgruntled hoot. It wasn't that it didn't like delivering to the Emporium; it just didn't like following commands in general. McGonagal liked to point out that it was very like its master in that regard, but he usually managed to ignore her.

With the letter sent, he poured himself some brandy and sat in his favorite chair. Eventually, he would have to have a conversation with Ella, no matter that he hated small talk, and conversing with a child made him cringe. What on earth did he have in common with an eleven-year-old girl? He devoutly wished he could just write out what she needed to know, or that he could give her a series of lectures, but somehow, he knew that if he did, Shelly would be only the front of the line waiting to take his head. He gulped the last of his brandy and gave up on thinking. He had papers to grade, and that always made him feel better.

XxX

A/N: I am very sorry for the delay in posting. Last week vanished before I had the chance to do a lot of things. By the way, chapter 25 has been reposted, because I changed the name of the enemies of Dafydd to Malleville. That is the only change, so if you don't feel like rereading, you don't have to. -Krew


	36. Family Ties

**36. Family Ties**

Friday morning at breakfast Ella received two letters by owl post. The first looked as though it had traveled a great distance, and when she opened it, she realized it had. Her uncle had written her at last—and he had arranged a way for the to communicate with more than glances and nods. She smiled and turned to the owl, who had perched on the handle of the pumpkin juice.

"I'll write my answer this evening—would you like to wait in the owlery until I need you? They keep it very nice."

The owl bobbed its head and flew away with the last of the school owls. Ella opened the second letter, and when she had read it, grinned. Professor Snape had asked that she remain after Potions class, conveniently the last one she had that day. She looked up at the head table and nodded at him, and then went back to finishing her breakfast before anyone noticed her distraction.

Classes that day went slowly. In fact, they crawled by. When the time for Potions finally came, she was nearly twitching with impatience. It was a challenge to sit quietly on a stool and wait for Professor Snape to arrive.

XxX

His entrance to the classroom was heralded by the slamming of the door against the wall. He swept to the front of the room and stood looking down his long nose at the wide-eyed children.

"This is the official beginning to your instruction in the art and science of potion making," he said in a low silky voice. "This is a subtle art, and one in which many fail to grasp the finer details. Potions has nothing to do with the power you can wield through your wand, and everything to do with the power of your mind. There is little that your other professors can do that I cannot duplicate with potions, and often my results will be much more effective. It is quite possible, with practice and application to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." His words were met with a hushed and reverent silence. He waited until the silence was broken by a single pen scratch as one Ravenclaw began to transcribe his words from memory. He was followed by every other member of first year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as they raced to record his speech before they forgot it.

He took roll from his list of names, smirking as younger siblings of older students trembled lest they awaken his wrath. No one drew his displeasure, though, and he was forced to assign the day's potion without first proving anyone's ignorance. It was a disappointment, but he was certain he would make up for it later.

As students worked to gather ingredients, he turned from the board back to the desks. "Miss Dafydd, please come here," he commanded. When Ella approached the front of the room, he gestured to a table holding bowls of prepared ingredients.

"Until you are capable of holding a knife and using it without damaging yourself or others, you will gather your ingredients here. There are five preparations of each ingredient, only one of which is done correctly. The others are either ruined materials from other classes or preparations for other potions. Your task is to select the correct materials, using the directions given to the class. Then you will brew the potion using your materials. If you are correct in your selections, your potions will turn out. If your choice is wrong, you will experience the same disastrous results as your classmates." He left her at the table of ingredients, and began his tour from cauldron to cauldron, pointing out errors, breathing down necks, and catching those foolish enough to cut corners or daydream.

When time was up, each student bottled his or her potion, labeled it for grading, and cleaned up materials and supplies. He assigned a two-foot long parchment on the history and uses for the simple potion they had made, and dismissed the class.

XxX

Ella waited while everyone cleaned their worktables and packed away supplies. Vivianne looked over at her as she sat with her bag packed, making no move to leave the classroom.

"What's up?" she asked, a bit of concern in her voice as she remembered yesterday's events after Defense class.

"Nothing," Ella replied. "Professor Snape asked me to stay after class to speak with him. I'll meet you when we're done."

Vivianne didn't answer as she followed the rest of the class, who were eager for the weekend to begin, but she looked back on her way out the door. As their footsteps faded away, Ella stood and walked to Snape's desk. He regarded her with a measuring glance, then stood, while she looked up at him.

"Follow me," he said, and left the classroom through a side door. When she walked through the door, Ella found herself in Snape's office. He gestured to a pair of chairs drawn up to a table loaded with food.

"I took the liberty of ordering tea," he said.

Ella sat and waited while he poured tea and motioned to the pile of sandwiches. She took a few, set them on a plate, and smiled shyly when he handed her a cup of tea.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly.

"When we are in private, you may address me as your uncle," Snape remarked.

"Of course, sir—Uncle Severus," Ella said quickly.

"How has your first week gone?" Snape asked, clearly at a loss as how to start the conversation between them, Ella realized with a guilty start. What would her elocution instructors say if they knew she had let things begin so awkwardly?

"It has been interesting, Uncle Severus," Ella said, bringing back to mind all the rules she learned in school on the art of conversation: _Discuss subjects you are familiar with, don't complain about anything, but don't lie. Make observations that invite the other to respond. Allow the other's interest or disinterest guide the topic of conversation._

"How so?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well," Ella began, "disregarding completely the events of last weekend, which took everyone by surprise, I find that I am almost constantly finding something new and fascinating that those raised in the Wizarding world take for granted."

"What was your latest discovery?"

"This morning, one of the girls was asking the mirror for fashion advise, and not only did it answer, but two portraits joined in the discussion. In the Muggle world, hearing your mirror talk, not to mention debating with your wall hangings as to the advisability of wearing your hair styled a certain way, is certifiablebehavior."

"I see. Finding that sort of behavior acceptable would be unusual for you. Tell me, have you found friends, or at least allies here at Hogwarts?" Snape asked.

"Yes, there are several girls I am willing to pursue friendships with, and I am always around people, either my roommates, or my classmates, or my Housemates." Ella couldn't help the exasperation that slid into her voice at the reminder of her lack of solitude.

"Finding it a bit much, are you?" Snape smirked, but Ella felt it was more in empathy than derision.

"I am accustomed to solitude," she replied diplomatically.

Snape set down his tea and looked closely at Ella. She felt like squirming under his gaze, but forced herself to sit still. He seemed to be examining her, though for what, she didn't know. When he finally spoke again, she jumped a little in surprise.

"You have had enormous changes to you life in the last few weeks. Do you feel yourself accepting them, or at least growing accustomed to them?"

Ella nodded silently.

"That is good, for you see, I need to tell you some things that are going to possibly throw you off-balance again, and you deserve at least to have the chance to find your footing between shocks."

"What is it, Uncle Severus?" Ella asked worriedly.

"You will have to be patient for a little while, because I must begin many years ago. You see, at the beginning of this age, not long after the Norman invasion of England and Wales, a powerful Wizarding family was betrayed by their lord and king. At the time, there was no division between the Wizard and Muggle world; that schism occurred with the Spanish Inquisition. So, the women of this family gathered what they could carry and went to find a life where they could be free."

"Wait, Uncle Severus," Ella said, with a sense of déjà vu, "I know this story. They were the Dafydds, and they found refuge at a forgotten manor, which was made even more secure. When the time came, The Lady passed her title, and the rule of the Dafydds to the first girl child born in the refuge." Her voice trailed off at the look on her uncle's face.

"Who has been telling you these things?" Snape asked calmly, though Ella rather thought there was an implied threat to that unknown person.

"No one," Ella said. "This is going to sound completely crazy, but ever since I got out of the hospital, I've been having dreams. They're vivid, like no dream I've ever had, and I'm not in them. I'm just watching, like someone's playing a movie in my mind."

"What else have you dreamt?" Snape asked.

"It seems to be on a repeating loop. I dream of the Lady, and then there are eight others, of whose lives I've witnessed parts. Not every night, but at least three times a week, I dream of them. Am I going mad? What does it all have to do with me?" Ella asked in growing worry.

"My grandmother was the last Dafydd. My mother would have held the title, whether or not she wanted to, but she died before she was faced with that choice. Your mother is a Squib, so she could not hold the title. You are the first-born daughter of the line of the Lady, and you are the Dafydd. You are the Lady, and have been since your birth," Snape said in all seriousness.

Ella knocked her chair over in her rush to stand. "Hold on, wait just a moment, here. I know that there are a lot of things that I was taught were nothing and fairy tales are real in your world, but the lost princess found in vile servitude is still just a story. It can't really happen."

"Of course," Snape agreed. "My Lady."

"Stop that!" Ella cried, "Don't call me that!"

"It is the truth, and you cannot change it. Being the Lady isn't something you have a choice about. You are or you aren't. You are the Lady Dafydd, and you need to get used to the idea, for you have a responsibility to your family. You need to know now, because you are going to begin receiving tributes soon, and you need to know why people are sending you things."

"Tributes?" Ella asked weakly.

"The oldest female in every family will send you a tribute fitting their position and place. You'll have to acknowledge each one with a letter and a token of your own."

"Uncle Severus, you have lost your mind! That's all there is to it. There can be no other possible explanation. If that is all, I need to go."

She stood and left the room, her frustration and denial overwhelming her fear of being rude or angering him. On the way out the door, she heard him say quietly,

"Farewell, my Lady." Her only response was to slam the door behind her.

XxX

Ella made her way back to her room, but it was not the refuge it normally was. Laying on her bed was a wrapped package. When she opened it, she found a tapestry rolled in a tube. When she laid it out flat on her bed she gasped, for it was a living tapestry, like the ones she'd seen at Tea and Crumpets. A note fluttered to the bed, and Ella picked it up with shaking hands.

_For the Lady,_ it read_, may this offer you warning, entertainment, and the enjoyment of beauty_. It was signed _Rhan Ymlaen_.

Ella couldn't believe it. Rhan was connected to the Dafydds? It did explain her interest in Ella's name, when Shelly introduced her, but why hadn't she said? Ella left the tapestry on the bed and dropped onto the couch, unable to think any more about the events of that afternoon.

A/N: I am glad to see so many people reading my story. This is by far the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, and it's really fun to post it and see that people are paying attention. Thanks to those who take the time to give feedback, it does encourage me to continue on.

p.s. I'm sorry for the delay in posting, I got this all beta'ed and then forgot to put it up on the web for you. How rude. Please forgive.

-Krew


	37. Keeping up Appearances

**37. Keeping Up Appearances**

When Ella left, Snape allowed himself to sag in his chair. He was so tired from it all. He still ached constantly from his torment at the hands of Voldemort's executioners, there'd been at least seven attempts to kill him in the last two weeks, and he was walking a tightrope to keep some of his Slytherins from fully turning on him. Now, to top it all off, Voldemort had apparently figured out a way to intensify his summoning, for his Dark Mark had begun burning so severely that the skin around it had begun to blister.

He'd not spoken to anyone about his troubles, for there was nothing anyone could do. If he took pain potions, he would be more open to attack. If he admitted he could no longer command the loyalty of his House, he would lose what little control he had over them, and even the thought of the pity he would be subjected to, should anyone find out how bad things were, was enough to make him cringe. So he warded the doors to his office, and only then, in assured privacy, would he allow himself to relax his guard.

He carefully rolled up his left sleeve to expose the bandage he'd wrapped around the Dark Mark. The burn ointment he'd used earlier had begun to seep through the linen, so with a sigh he untied the knot with his right hand and slowly removed the bandage. His inner arm looked as though he'd splashed boiling oil over it. The skin was blistered and weeping fluid, the Dark Mark a blackened brand. He flexed his hand, watching the skin pull and crack. It was only though extreme force of will that his hand didn't shake from the pain. He reached for the bottle of ointment that sat waiting on his desk when a knock sounded on his door.

"What do you want?" he snapped at the door.

"I need to speak with you, Snape," came Mithrandir's voice.

"It will have to wait, I'm busy," Snape called back.

"It can't wait, Snape, and if you do not open the door, I will be forced to destroy it," Mithrandir said with no hint of threat, only fact.

With a growl, Snape shook his sleeve down and went to the door. He opened it enough to glare at the man on the other side.

"Destroy anything of mine, including the doors to my office or quarters, and you will not live long to regret it," he said in a deadly quiet voice.

"Let me in, Snape," Mithrandir said, his voice equally quiet. "You don't want this discussion to happen in the hall where others can overhear."

Snape turned his back contemptuously on the other man and strode back to his desk chair. "What are you blathering about, Mithrandir? What was _so_ important that you come charging down to my dungeons like a wounded bear?"

Mithrandir slammed the door closed behind him and warded it with silencing spells. "I have come down here, to speak with you as one professional to another, giving your actions the benefit of the doubt, but should you continue to be so confrontational, I will cease doing so."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Then you're wasting your time, for obviously no one has told you that I am always confrontational. What do you want?"

Without asking for permission, Mithrandir sat in a chair facing Snape's desk. "I want you—no, I _need_ you to stop using the Dark arts here at the school," he said quietly.

Snape felt time expand as his body stilled in preparation for an explosion. His eyes turned deadly cold. "That is an exceedingly major accusation you are making," he said very quietly. "What evidence do you think you have to claim that I am using the Dark arts anywhere, much less here?"

Mithrandir closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not here because of rumor and shadows, Snape. The school's Dark arts detectors, which I am responsible for monitoring, have registered a steadily increasing presence of Dark magic emanating from this area of the school. So unless you are allowing students to perform illegal magic in your office when you are not present, you know what I am talking about."

Snape sat back in shock. Yes, he'd been accused many times of knowing and using the Dark arts, but this was different. If it was showing up on the Dark magic detectors, something truly was going on. At that moment, he felt his Dark Mark flare with such intensity that he nearly blacked out from the pain. When his vision cleared, it was to the sight of Mithrandir's wand pointed at his nose.

"Don't even think of reaching for your wand, Snape," Mithrandir threatened.

"Damn it, Mithrandir, stop acting like a brainless Auror and think! Is that what your detectors are reading? Is it?" Snape demanded. Mithrandir nodded curtly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Snape snorted in derision.

"You Aurors are all the same: cast a spell first and ask questions later. I've had enough of you; you may leave." He stood and flung his arm out in command for Mithrandir's exit, but the Auror stood and grabbed his outstretched arm. It was all Snape could do to stay on his feet. The pain narrowed his vision to a hazy tunnel, and Mithrandir's voice seemed to come from a distance.

"What are you hiding, Snape?" he demanded. "If you're innocent, why are you being so difficult? I'm trying to help you. If I tell Dumbledore the Dark arts are being practiced in this school, and that you seem to be the one responsible, he will have no choice but to remove you. You and I both know that the moment you set foot outside those gates you life is forfeit. Help me, Severus. Help me save you."

The arrogance in the end of the statement gave Snape the strength to pull away from other man. He stood stiffly and glared at him.

"The enormity of your ignorance is surpassed only by your blindness, Alexi," Snape said in a hiss. "But that is the single greatest weakness of everyone who claims to fight for what is right and good. You don't want to get your hands dirty, but you condemn those of us who get the job done. Wake up, you fool. Standing back and shaking your finger in rebuke will get you nowhere."

Snape spun away as Mithrandir looked down at his hands, but he suddenly found himself unable to move, victim of an Auror's spell. Mithrandir walked around to face him and lifted one hand—the one that he'd used to grab Snape. There were smears of blood on his fingers.

"It would seem," Mithrandir said, all anger gone from his voice, "that I've just gotten my hands dirty. What have they done to you, Snape?" He did not allow an answer but instead floated the Potions master back to his desk chair.

"Don't bother trying to fight the spell—it's a form of the Imperius curse—a legal one. I've taken the ability to move away from you for a short time; it will return in two minutes, unless I cast the spell again. I cannot make you do anything, but I can prevent you from doing _some_thing."

Mithrandir gently peeled back Snape's sleeve to reveal his mangled arm. He hissed in reaction but worked quickly to cast healing spells on the skin he'd unknowingly torn. When he finished, the skin was still inflamed but no longer oozing blood and fluid.

Mithrandir lowered his wand and backed off, seating himself again in the chair on the other side of the desk. "How long has it been like this?" he asked quietly.

"Why the sudden concern?" Snape asked nastily.

"No one, not even you, deserves to be tortured," Mithrandir replied. "How long?"

"Does it matter?" Snape asked.

"Yes, it matters. For one thing, if that's what set off the detectors, you are cleared from using Dark magic. For another, if I know how long you put up with it, I'll know when to ambush you again to be sure you get medical treatment, even if I have to curse you from behind to do it."

"It got increasingly worse over the course of the week," Snape said grudgingly. Yes, his arm felt much better, but compassion could lead to weakness on his part, and he couldn't afford it.

"And I assume you didn't take advantage of Madame Pomfrey's care because she would insist on scanning you and would discover how unfit you are to be teaching," Mithrandir deduced. "Don't you know that martyrdom went out of fashion years ago?"

Snape stood and walked to the door, though he waited to open it. "If you are satisfied that I'm not practicing the Dark arts in my free time, I believe we are finished," he said quietly.

Mithrandir stood and faced Snape. "I meant what I said about helping you. You aren't alone anymore in your fight. Let me help you."

Snape shook his head. "This is something I brought on myself. No one can help me now." He opened the door, dismissing the other professor. Mithrandir silently shook his head and left Snape's office.


	38. Changing Perceptions

**38. Changing Perceptions**

When October arrived, Ella happily put away her cane, shipped the potions case back to Sulis Minerva Hospital, and went on with her life. She was still required to try out for the House quidditch team, but she failed miserably in every position, which she honestly didn't find that disappointing. Flying through the air on nothing but a broomstick wasn't her idea of a good time.

She quickly caught up in the classes in which she'd been unable to complete practical exams and happily prepared her own potions ingredients, rather than guessing which slugs were cut on the forty-five degree angle. In all, she was happy. She wasn't popular really—Vivianne remained her only true friend outside of her "sisters," and classes weren't simple, but she was able, with hard work, to stay caught up.

She'd only received two other tributes after the tapestry; one was a beautiful set of dress robes made of the finest material, the other a bracelet made of small, highly polished stones that caught even the smallest beam of light and sparkled. She'd sent back letters and gifts of her own—the very old book of etiquette she'd found on a dusty shelf in the library had given her ideas of what was appropriate. The robes had gone to the back of her wardrobe until an appropriate time. The bracelet she'd added to her jewelry box, though it didn't stay there very long, since it very quickly became her favorite piece of jewelry to wear. The first tribute she received, the tapestry from Rhys, she'd intended to hide away, but Moira had come into the room before she could stash it. So now the four-foot high tapestry of Hogwarts, complete with sleeping dragon, was the pride of the Eagle's Nest.

The only thing that marred her new life was the group of boys from Gryffindor House who'd marked her as an easy target for teasing the first day of classes. Ella never found out exactly why they'd picked her, but she put up with a near-constant stream of petty bullying. Meagan's advice to ignore them until they went away didn't seem to be working, either. They just kept upping the ante to get a reaction out of her. Of course, they didn't know that she'd withstood a great deal more than they could ever dish out, but Ella wasn't going to tell them.

XxX

The first quidditch game of the year was played between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It was a beautiful fall day, with the sun shining and the scent of autumn in the light breeze. The game was well-played, fast-moving, and high-scoring. Ella had enjoyed watching, and she followed the lead of the other Ravenclaws, cheering for good plays rather than a specific team. With that logic, you could leave happy, no matter who won. Ella was following her Housemates down the long stairs from the Ravenclaw upper stands when she realized that she'd left her scarf at her seat.

"I have to go back. I'll see you at the castle," she called to Moira, who looked back, pulling her hair out of her face as the wind tugged it loose from the hair tie she used.

"That's fine. Hurry though—Opal got some goodies from her mum, and she's going to share."

Ella waved in reply and turned to make her way back up the steps, winding her way past the others working their way down. When she reached the open stands they were empty, and she paused to look at the view over the grounds. The students heading back to the school looked small as ants to her eyes. In the other direction, the trees in the Forbidden Forest were adding their fall colors. A cooler breeze brushed the back of her neck and she shivered.

She climbed up to the bench where she'd watched the quidditch game, but her scarf wasn't anywhere to be found. She heard a noise behind her and spun to see her tormentors standing in a loose half-circle between her and the exit. A finger of fear worked its way down her spine, but Ella was determined to ignore it. A flutter of cloth caught her attention—it was her scarf, held in the hand of the leader of the group, Ralf. Ella squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She'd known she'd have to face them down eventually but had hoped the confrontation would happen somewhere where she could get help if things got out of hand. She slowly walked down the stairs to meet Ralf. He didn't move, but Ella heard the footsteps of the other boys as they closed the circle behind her.

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hand to him.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"My scarf," Ella said, still holding out her hand. "Thank you for finding it for me."

"Oh, is this yours?" he said in surprise. "Well, here you are then." He held it out as though her was going to hand it to her, but at the last moment, he threw over her head to another boy. Ella spun to face him, but before she could even ask him to return her scarf, he threw it back to Ralf, laughing at her attempt to catch it in the air. And so it went, back and forth between the four boys, Ella trying not to spin like a top. She managed to catch an end of the scarf in her hand and pulled it towards her, but that was a mistake. She didn't have the strength to pull the scarf out of the boy's hand. Instead, she was pulled off balance, which he took advantage of by suddenly letting go of his end of the scarf. She fell backwards, but the hands that caught her sent her stumbling in another direction. This new amusement was highly entertaining for all four boys, and they tightened their circle to push her faster, laughing and cheering each other on. As Ella frantically tried to stay on her feet the scarf fell forgotten to the ground. She bit her lip, trying not to cry out as their shoves grew harder, but her silence only encouraged them. The circle had slowly edged across the platform until Ralf had his back to the stairs. When Ella was pushed towards him, he stepped aside and, with a burst of laughter from all four boys, he gave her an extra push to send her tumbling down the stairs.

A scream escaped her as she was suddenly thrust through the dark opening. _Go limp, _she told herself, remembering other falls down other stairs. _Stay limp._ She tried to relax her muscles to minimize damage, but the first crashing blow on the long tumble made her tense up as pain shot up through her shoulder. She rolled and tumbled down several of the switchbacks before her momentum slowed enough for her to catch a railing with one hand. She lay dazed and trembling in the dimness, trying to feel without moving what had been bruised or broken, fighting to regain her breath. A light shone down on her from a wand held farther up the stairs. Four heads leaned over the banister to look at her.

"Oh, shit," Ralf said, "let's get out of here." The boys started down the stairs, and as they passed her, the last one in line stopped and looked down at her.

"We can't just leave her here like this," he protested. "What if she's really hurt?"

"Great idea, Bobby," Ralf said sarcastically. "Let's go tell someone that we pushed her down the stairs and see what happens." He pushed Bobby ahead of him as they ran down the stairs.

XxX

Snape had left the quidditch game just after the final whistle had signaled Slytherin's victory. He made it almost to the doors of the castle when a feeling of danger washed over him. He spun quickly, surveying the grounds and people near him, but nothing seemed out of place. The feeling came again, drawing his eye back to the quidditch pitch. Mithrandir walked up as he was scanning the crowds of people walking back to the castle.

"What is it?" Mithrandir asked quietly. "Is something wrong?"

Snape didn't answer him at first. Instead he used a spell to see the field and stands more clearly.

"Well?" Mithrandir asked again. "Is something amiss?"

"That depends," Snape said, starting back to the quidditch pitch. "Do you find anything troubling about four boys from Gryffindor being alone in the Ravenclaw stands with a single female?"

"That depends," Mithrandir said, matching Snape stride for stride. "If they are asking for tutoring in a school subject, there is nothing wrong. But the remoteness of the location, the fact that the boys are not where they belong, and the fact they have her alone, do suggest a problem."

The two professors were not running across the grounds, but their long strides covered the distance as fast as some others' sprint could keep up. They were still a dozen yards away when Snape was seized by a sudden sense of doom. A scream reached them, but it was quickly cut off, in a way that both men, veterans of conflict, recognized as true trouble. They ran the last steps to the stairs and arrived just in time to intercept four very guilty-looking Gryffindors.

"Stay right where you are," Mithrandir snapped at the boys, while Snape entered the stairwell. He found Ella still laying on the steps, though she had managed to right herself.

"Miss Dafydd, are you hurt?" Snape asked.

She shook her head and whispered, "Nothing's broken, I think. I just can't catch my breath."

Snape took out his wand and carefully scanned Ella. She was badly bruised in places, and certainly shaken, but she had been right; nothing was broken. He helped her to sit up, and when he saw her breathing had steadied somewhat, he assisted her down the stairs. Mithrandir was still waiting with the culprits outside the stands. Snape ignored them for a moment while he conjured a bench for Ella. When she was settled, he turned to the boys.

"Do you find it amusing to knock people down stairs and leave them?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. Mithrandir turned to face him.

"This was intentional?" he asked calmly.

Snape gestured for Ella to respond, and the girl nodded, and said very quietly, "I don't know if was their original plan, but Ralf did push me down the stairs. It was his idea to leave me there, as well."

Ralf moved to protest, but Mithrandir cut him off. "It is reprehensible that you would treat anyone this way, but to gang up on a girl who is younger and smaller than all of you is despicable." All four boys seemed to wilt under his displeasure.

Snape was content to stand back and watch as Mithrandir continued with his diatribe. Not only did he bring up all of the topics Snape would have covered himself, he also berated them strongly for the unchivalrous action of the strong attacking the weak and defenseless. By the time he paused for breath, there was no doubt that they would be in detention at least the entire month, if not longer, and the number of points they'd lost rivaled anything the Weasley twins or even the golden Gryffindor Trio had managed. No doubt about it, these would be the most hated people in the house by the end of the night. Not only was that highly satisfying to Snape, he also had the knowledge that no one would question the action, because it hadn't come from him; it was all Mithrandir's doing.

The other professor was winding down his lecture when one very cowed boy looked up and paled.

"Professor," he whispered in warning, "behind you, from the forest!"

Both Snape and Mithrandir spun to see a line of dark figures advancing across the grounds from the Forbidden Forest.

Without a word, Mithrandir and Snape moved shoulder-to-shoulder between the students and the menacing figures. They threw up powerful shields around the five children and sent a large fountain of red sparks high up into the air.

"Don't move," Snape hissed at the students. "We can't cover you if you split up. Stay still, and don't try to fight them."

The fight was very uneven. There were twenty Death Eaters facing two teachers, and they not only had to defend themselves but protect five innocents, who could very easily become victims, as well. From the distance they could hear the shouts of the faculty and older students as they raced to the rescue, but it would take them time to reach the quidditch pitch.

"Give yourself up, Snape, and we'll let the others go!" called one of the masked figures.

"As though we could ever believe the word of a Death Eater!" Mithrandir yelled back.

The spells few thick and furious, nearly overwhelming the two professors. One nasty cutting spell got through Mithrandir's guard, leaving a deep gash down his face and across his shoulder. Snape dodged several crushing hexes, but a powerful stunner caught him from the side and knocked him to the ground dazed, though not unconscious. He heard Ella's panicked scream as his half of the shield fell away, leaving them unprotected. Mithrandir stepped forward and doubled his efforts to shield not only the students, but now Snape as well from the hexes aimed their way. Thankfully, the spells that got through were slowed enough by the shield that the students could dodge or duck the streams of light. When the other professors charged across the field, the Death Eaters sent one last sally of spells and hexes, then ran back into the Forbidden Forest.

Madame Pomfrey was called to check all seven, before deciding if they could go or if they needed the hospital. She was furious at the bruises Ella had and would have launched a lecture of her own, but Dumbledore cut her off before she could begin.

"I believe the boys have already received detention and lost a large number of points before the attack. I think they've been through enough for today, though"—he fixed the boys with a reproving glare over his glasses—"you will report for your assigned detention tonight. None of you were injured, so you are not excused from your punishment."

The boys slunk away, already the victims of glares and other nasty looks from the older Gryffindor students who had raced to their rescue moments before.

It was decided that Mithrandir and Snape would be transported to the hospital, over the protestations of both.

As they were loaded onto stretchers, Ella stepped close and spoke softly, "Thank you both for what you did." She turned and made her way back to Ravenclaw Tower alone.

Once they were settled in beds in the hospital and Pomfrey had gone away, Snape ignored his aching side to lean over and look at Mithrandir.

"I don't know why you didn't just toss me at them, even if it only provided a momentary distraction," he said conversationally.

Mithrandir turned his head. "As I told the boys, I don't like bullies."

Snape laughed incredulously, "And that's what the Dark Lord is to you, a bully?"

"One that has had far too long with no one standing up to him. He holds power through fear and threats, the people who follow him do so to save their own skins or to achieve power through associating with him, and he runs from direct confrontation, leaving his followers to do his dirty work for him. Yes, I'd call him a bully," Mithrandir said.

All Snape could do in reply was laugh, imagining the great Lord Voldemort as nothing more than a school yard bully, shaking children upside down to steal their lunch money.

XxX

Ralf Mertwin, Bobby Kanley, Ethan Ewen, and Adam Vintorsny were given detention until Christmas vacation. Filch gleefully assigned them the most odious maintenance tasks the school had to offer. So it was that the four boys had to scrub the floor of the owlry, scrape the slime off the walls in the lowest dungeons, and clean up the mud tracked into the entryway. All without magic of course, and on a consistent basis. It was too bad for them that the weather that year was the muddiest Hogwarts had ever seen; the lowest dungeons developed several new cracks in the mortar, which allowed in more seeping water, which grew the slime even faster; and there was a sharp increase in the delivery of mail to the school. Of course, Snape had absolutely nothing to do with any of that, though his potions cabinet had never been better stocked, his stacks of potions journals had never been more up to date, and he had been seen walking through the halls with a smirk on his face whenever it rained or snowed a little more.

XxX

A/N: This was a hard chapter to write because Mithrandir just didn't want to become a nice, helpful guy. Hopefully this puts him on the path in that direction because I need him later, and if he's still being a jerk, no one will want his help. Now, if he will just agree with my ideas, we'll be good to go. Hope you enjoyed!


	39. The DA

**39. The DA**

Ella never had to face those four bullies again. Due to the massive point loss they had cost Gryffindor, they were doing their best to disappear from sight and the minds of their Housemates. Ella did have to face the lectures from her Housemates and her uncle for not speaking up and telling anyone about the trouble they'd given her. When she protested that what they'd done, until that last day, hadn't been that bad, she was treated to yet another set of lectures on the subject of what was and was not "bad."

The good thing was that while she'd put up with a great deal of trouble for much longer than anyone would have expected, she'd also developed a reputation for not telling tales to professors. That reputation worked in her behalf, in several ways she never expected.

It was the second week of November, and the first snowfall had blanketed the school in white and forced the students and professors to choose between being trapped indoors or being pelted by the unending snowball fight that sprang up in the courtyard.

Ella had spent her break with Vivianne, sharing a mug of hot chocolate that was charmed not to go cold or empty. They had run the gauntlet across the courtyard, dodging what snowballs they could. Vivianne had spilled the hot chocolate once, but it didn't matter thanks to the charm.

When the bell rang, the combatants had to stop, letting everyone get back inside without being covered in more snow. Ella was shaking the last of the snow off her cloak when Moira pulled her aside. "Do you have a minute?" she asked Ella.

Ella looked down at her watch. "Sure, my next class is History of Magic, and that's right up the hall. What's going on?"

Moira looked around carefully before pulling Ella into an alcove. "Look, there's this group, made up of students. It's called Dumbledore's Army, and we practice spells—ones that will help us if Voldemort ever attacks the school. We're opening the group to new members, and I want to invite you. So think about it, and tell me tonight. Don't mention it to anyone else though, all right?"

Ella nodded, and Moira slipped away, heading to her next class. Ella waited a moment before going in the opposite direction. She made it to History just before the bell rang, and Vivianne leaned over to whisper, "Where did you go? I lost you on the way inside."

"Nowhere," Ella whispered back. "My boot came untied, and I had to stop before someone stepped on the laces and tripped me."

Vivianne gave her a considering look, but Ella ignored her and pulled out her notes and ink. Professor Rogers began lecturing before Vivianne could say anything more, which Ella was thankful for. She wasn't that good of a liar.

That night, when she met Moira back in their room, she still hadn't come to a decision.

"I don't know, Moira," she said, "I mean, I'm just a first year, and I'm not that great a witch. What good could I do?"

"That's just it," Moira answered. "We learn and practice spells until we can do them, no matter what the situation. And, the people who lead it—Harry Potter and Hermoine Granger are really good teachers. We decided at the last meeting that every member could invite one person, from any House, who we felt was trustworthy, and would be willing to work hard. And that's you."

"What if that person isn't trustworthy, though?" Ella asked Moira. "What's going to keep you group a secret then?"

Moira smiled grimly. "Everyone knows the consequences if you tell. Do you know Marietta Edgecomb? She's a seventh year."

"The one with the really bad acne?" Ella asked.

"Yeah, she's the one. What you don't know is that most of that acne is fake—Marietta charms it on every morning."

"Why on earth would she do that?" Ella demanded.

Moira couldn't help but smirk. "Because, the acne that isn't fake won't go away. It's a jinx, and she can't break it. Big pimples that spell out the word SNEAK across her face. That's what happens if you tell."

Ella gaped. "Isn't something like that a really hard spell? How could another student jinx her that badly?"

"I told you, Harry and Hermoine are really good teachers. Hermione is the smartest witch that's ever attended Hogwarts. I bet if she wanted to, she could take and pass six or seven NEWT-level tests tomorrow without studying. She would ace them if she had time to study. So, what do you think?"

Ella stopped to consider. She knew that her uncle had suffered at Lord Voldemort's hands, and she had met many others whose lives had been altered forever thanks to the Dark wizard. Did she think that she could do something to stop him?

"I'm in," she said.

XxX

Late that night, when everyone else was asleep, Ella crept out of bed and into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and faced the mirror in the moonlight. Though she would never tell anyone, she knew why her spells weren't very strong. Steeling her courage, she reached up with one hand and touched the top of her shoulder. She could feel the think ridges of scar tissue tough the thin material of her nightgown. Her fingers could feel, but her back couldn't. She had no sensation from her shoulders to the tops of her legs. The thick scaring from the whippings she'd received through the years had buried her nerve endings below the surface. Oh, she could tell if something cut through the skin, but nothing less. Not only that, the scar tissue restricted her movement. She was able to hide it most of the time, but when she had to make a large movement with her wand, especially one that had to cross the body, she couldn't complete the motion. It meant that no matter how hard she practiced, she would never be able to cast a truly powerful spell.

_One day you may look on your scars as badges of honor. Or you may hate them for the rest of your life. _Shelly's words from their first shopping trip floated back into her mind. Ella met her own eyes in the mirror. She hadn't stopped hating her scars, but it was time to stop fearing them. She turned her back to the mirror and pulled off her nightgown. She looked back over her shoulder and regarded the marks. They were ugly, and painful to look at, but in the moonlight, she could distance herself from them.

"Do you want my opinion?" asked the mirror.

"Not really," Ella replied. She turned around and looked at the brand on the front of her shoulder. Here, perhaps, she could find her badge of honor. Her father had marked her as flawed and unworthy, but she was glad she wasn't what the Gray family considered worthy. She traced the knot with her fingers, her eyes looking back on the years of pain and horror. This brand obliterated the mark that had been burned into her shoulder when she was two, the mark of being the blood daughter of the Grays. Though it wasn't what he intended, it was the one good thing her father had given her—freedom from her family, and their plans for her future.

XxX

Several days later, Moira slipped a note to Ella on the way to breakfast. _Meet me in the third floor east corridor at 7 tonight. Don't tell anyone where you are going, and be careful you aren't followed_. Evanesce_ this note once you've read it._

Ella did as the note said and the paper vanished from her hand. She met Moira's eyes over the breakfast table and gave her a slight nod. That night, she was going to join Dumbledore's Army.

The day crawled by. Every class seemed to be unending, and because she wasn't allowed to talk about the coming activities with anyone, even breaks dragged on. When dinner was over, Ella told Vivianne she was going to the library for a few hours, and slipped away from the great hall. She did go to the library, because it was easy to lose people among the tall bookcases. She spent a few minutes wandering around, as though looking for a book, before checking her watch and leaving quickly, muttering something about a history test study group. Though she didn't look around, she knew three or four different people watched her go. She first made her way through the halls, as though she was going back to Ravenclaw, but at one of the blind corners, she made a sharp turn and ran quietly down the hall to a shadowed doorway. She slipped into the shadows, and held her breath, listening for signs of someone following her. Footsteps sounded in the hall she'd just left, and Ella smiled. Even if whoever it was wasn't following her, she had managed to move out of his or her sight. When the steps faded away, Ella quietly worked her way up and around the castle until she reached the third floor corridor Moira had mentioned in her note.

There was a cluster of students in the middle of the hall, but Ella held back to listen. She was glad she did so in a moment.

"Did you see where they went?" a voice hissed.

"No, I lost them when they ran around the corner," another voice replied.

"Split up and see if you can grab any latecomers. If we don't get our mole in, there's going to be hell to pay."

The cluster broke up, and Ella ducked back down the hall and hid behind a statue. She didn't recognize any of the students that went past her, but two were from Slytherin, and one was a Gryffindor. She tried to memorize features so she could describe them later. When they disappeared around the next corner, Ella drew her wand and crept back to the corridor where she was supposed to meet Moira. There was no one there, but when she reached the center, across from a tapestry of a very strange wizard, a door suddenly appeared from nowhere. Moira opened the door and quickly beckoned Ella to enter. Ella ran forwards, and Moira closed the door quickly behind them.

Ella was facing a large room that was set up like a classroom. On side of the room sat three rows of students holding clipboards. On the other side, there were three equal rows of very bewildered-looking students. Moira directed Ella to the latter, and Ella took one of the empty chairs. Looking over the students on her side of the room, Ella saw only a few wearing Slytherin green and silver. She wondered at the lack, but brushed the question aside for later study.

Ella was not the last student to arrive—there were several others, one of whom ran through the door like he was being chased. When everyone was seated, a tall boy with messy black hair and glasses stood up.

"I'd like to welcome all of you new volunteers to the D.A.," he said quietly. The room quieted down very quickly, all eyes turning to face the boy.

"Before we tell you more about what we do, we want to know about you. After tonight, if you are voted in as member of the D.A., you will be contacted by your sponsor and told what happens next. If you are denied, we ask that you accept our decision and do not attempt to ask questions of anyone who is present here tonight. By entering the door, you have agreed to our policy of silence. If you break that trust, the consequences aren't pretty, and they are rather permanent. Tonight will take some time, but we ask that you all remain here until all interviews are finished." He sat back down in his chair and Hermione Granger, who Ella recognized from the train station, called the first name.

The questions seemed to have no particular order or subject. Some were asked about their background, or their families, but others were asked questions about their classes, or their favorite quidditch teams, or what movies they'd seen that summer. To the members of the D.A. though, they seemed to get a great deal of information, because they were scribbling all over their pages. When Ella was called, she jumped, because there also had been no order to the names called.

She stood so people could see her, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking.

"Tell us about your family, Ella," Hermione asked Ella.

"The family I grew up with, or the family I live with now?" Ella said quietly.

"Pick one," she was told. Ella took a deep breath.

"My mother was a squib, my father a Muggle. We moved all over England because of his work, and eventually down to Wales. They were killed in a automobile accident this summer, and now I either live with my uncle, or with my godparents."

"Now tell us about your relationship with Professor Snape."

Ella barely managed to keep her jaw in place. What had these people seen, what did they know? She very quickly played stupid.

"Relationship? He's my Potions professor," she said, hoping she sounded confused, rather than defensive

"Please," Hermione said. "You've been observed no less that five times coming out of his office thirty minutes to an hour after class. That is not a normal student/teacher relationship, and he isn't your Head of House."

"No," Ella said slowly, "but my uncle knows him, and he asked Professor Snape to be a mentor to me, because I've never been part of the Wizarding world. Professor Snape has met with me several times, to fulfill his obligation to my uncle."

Mentally she crossed her fingers, hoping that answer would satisfy them. Apparently it did, because she was not asked anything else.

The interviews wore on, and Ella wondered if there was another reason for the long process. A sudden commotion rose from behind her, and Ella turned to see a boy struggling to get out of his chair and leave the room. Three older students pulled their wands on him and the boy slowly sat back down.

"Leaving so soon?" the boy leading the meeting asked quietly. "It wouldn't be because your Polyjuice is about to wear off, would it?"

Though Ella had no idea what he was talking about, most of the other students began whispering between themselves. The boy was bundled out of the room by the three students who had previously drawn their wands. When they returned, a boy with bright read hair firmly closed the door and leaned on it.

"Waldon Avery," he said quietly, "fourth year Slytherin. I'm sure he was put up to it, but he isn't talking." Ella was reminded of the figures she'd seen lurking in the hall when she had arrived for the meeting. Had Waldon been the mole they were referring to?

When the last of the applicants had been interviewed, the dark-haired boy stood again.

"Thank you for your time tonight. The DA will make its decision as to your membership in the next two days. Should you be approved, you will be informed by your sponsor. Wait for an all-clear before you leave the room, and remember, don't speak to anyone about this. Good night." He turned and began talking with several other members of the DA, and the organized meeting broke up into groups of chatting students.

XxX

The next morning, while the rest of the room was still sleeping, Moira flipped Ella a gold Galleon. "You're in," she told Ella with a grin.

"I thought that it was going to take you two days to decide, that's what that boy said," Ella said, surprised.

"That boy, as you put it, is Harry Potter, and for some it will take time. But for you, it didn't."

"Why not?" Ella asked, completely confused.

"I don't know," Moira answered honestly. "After you all left last night, Harry asked us if there was anyone who hadn't passed the interview. We listed off the people we'd marked off, and the ones that everyone agreed on were passed in last night. The rest we'll talk about and decide on tonight or tomorrow."

"But how on earth could you make a decision for a person you don't know based on the questions you asked? They made no sense!" Ella protested.

"You interview wasn't the questions, Ella, it was the whole night—the waiting, the sneaking about, your reaction to the questions and the answers that others gave. Those were the notes we were really taking, for the most part." Moira glanced over at Ella and laughed softly. "It was the best way to see how you'd follow directions, handle unfamiliar and stressful situations, and think on your feet. You passed, so stop worrying. Keep that Galleon in your pocket—it's how we set the meetings. If it heats up, check the numbers on the back, it tells you the date and time of the meeting. The place is always the same, in the Room of Requirement. I'll show you how to get in when we have the first meeting. Welcome to Dumbledore's Army, Ella."

XxX

A/N: so the best laid plans of mice and all that, I was going to get this out early because I'm on fall break, but the week ran by far too fast, and now it's almost the next weekend. So, here is this chapter, and I hope you enjoy, and thank you again and again to all those who take the time to review-you make writing work it!


	40. Snafu

**40. Snafu**

Two days later, Ella felt her fake Galleon warm up in her pocket. When she slipped it out, she saw that a meeting had been scheduled for that evening. After dinner, she met Moira and they made their way up to the third floor. When they reached the center of the hall, Moira pointed to the strange tapestry Ella had noticed.

"That's Barnabas the Barmy. He marks the entrance to the Room of Requirement. To get into the meeting, you walk back and forth three times, thinking about how you belong in the DA, and how much you need to be at the meeting. When you do that, the door appears, and you can go in. Watch how I do it."

Moira paced back and forth three times, and a door shimmered into existence. They knocked and entered, and Ella's jaw dropped in surprise. The room was enormous, and it was filled with every imaginable piece of equipment for physical and magical defense training. They were among the first to arrive, so Moira introduced her to the leaders of the DA, Harry Potter and Hermonie Granger, and several of their friends. Ella felt exceedingly small standing with all of the fifth and sixth year students, and was very glad when several other groups entered, giving her an excuse to move away.

As the meeting began Ella glanced around to see who all had made it into the DA from the group of applicants she'd sat with three days ago. She recognized a few faces, but not many. She wished there were more Ravenclaws in the DA, or at least her friend Vivianne, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Right then, we're going to start with a spell that you veterans learned last year. That way you can help our newer members. _Stupefy_ is a stunning spell. Used correctly, it will knock an assailant unconscious, with means both magical and physical. If you don't have enough power behind it, the spell may cause your opponent to stumble, but it will not take them out." Harry demonstrated the wand movement several times and even _Stupefied _his friend Ron.

Ella rolled her shoulders slightly while watching the demonstration. The spell required a large cross-body arm movement, and she knew it would be hard for her to make the movement large enough. When Harry had finished giving instructions, and had enervated Ron, he asked that everyone break into pairs and try to stupefy each other.

"The room won't let you get hurt, so don't worry about using full power," Hermione told the group as they began practicing the spell.

Ella paired with Moira, but as she had feared, she couldn't make a large enough arm movement to give the spell power. She tried several times before they were told to switch. Moira knocked her out with one try, and when she enervated Ella, she apologized.

"We worked on this one last year, so I've had practice. Keep trying, you'll get it," she assured Ella.

Ella tried again and again, but the best she could do was pitiful, really. She was startled when a hand settled on her shoulder.

"Here," a boy's voice said from behind her, "you need to get a full cross swing before you cast." He took her left wrist in her hand and tried to bring it across her body. When she stiffened and stopped, he rubbed her shoulder with his right hand. "You're too tense," he said. "Relax and let the movement happen." Ella tried to pull away from this unseen boy, but he still held on to her wrist. He seemed totally unaware that she was panicking at his touch.

"Come on, relax!" he told her again.

Ella felt something well up inside of her, a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. She was petrified with the thought that he could feel her scars and would say something. He had to be stopped before he could find out her secret. The strange power welling up inside of her rushed out, causing Ella to gasp. She saw a flash of red hair as the boy was thrown away from her violently. She spun to see Ron laying on the floor with a shocked expression on his face. Everyone froze, looking between her and the boy on the floor. Ella felt the blood drain from her face. She'd knocked down a boy, one who was older than her. They would punish her for touching him, for hurting him. She had to run before they could catch her—she had to get away before they made her pay for her actions. Instinct took over, and in a blind panic, Ella ran from the room.

XxX

In the Room of Requirement, Hermione hurried over to help Ron up from the floor. "What did you do, Ron?" she asked.

"I don't know," he protested. "All I did was try to correct her wand movement, and the next thing I know, I'm flying through the air. I swear, I didn't do anything!" he repeated to the disbelieving faces surrounding them.

"She looked terrified. I better go find her," Moira said.

"Wait, I'll help you look," Hermione called. The two girls left together.

They made their way down the corridor, checking doors to find any that would lead to where Ella was hiding.

"We are never going to find her," Moira said with a sigh. "Not until she wants to be at least."

"Let me try something," Hermione said, taking out her DA Galleon and her wand. She passed her wand over the Galleon and muttered a few words. "Yes!" she cried, "it worked!" At Moira's inquiring glance, she explained, "I can track all the Galleons I've made for the DA. Usually, everyone's spread around the castle, but since everyone except for us and Ella are all in one place, we can follow it to her. She's up above us, maybe at the top of the west tower."

The two girls hurried down the hall and up the stairs. When they came out of the door, the tower looked empty. They lit their wands and began to search in the shadows.

"Ella, we know you're up here, talk to us," Moira pleaded.

"Ella, come out, no one's upset at you, we just want to know you're all right," Hermione called. They made their way around the tower, but when the met on the far side, with no sign of Ella, they exchanged worried glances.

"Are you sure she's up here?" Moira asked.

"Her Galleon is," Hermione answered.

As one they looked at the side of the tower, where the low wall stood. "No way," Moira said. "There is absolutely no way." Even as she mouthed the reassurances, she was drawn to the wall and looked over. They both breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the ground below them was empty. Still, that left the question as to where Ella, or her Galleon was.

"Look again," Hermione said, and they made their way around the tower again, calling for Ella.

XxX

When Ella had run from the meeting, she hadn't been thinking of a specific place to hide, only that she needed to disappear. She was going to be punished for what she did, but if she hid long enough, the first anger would die down. She and a cousin had learned that the hard way when they were five. They both laughed at one of the older men, and when they were seen, Ella had run, and her cousin had stayed. Ella went without food for three days and had been given a severe whipping; her cousin had suffered a broken jaw, ruptured eardrum, and dislocated shoulder in addition to the deprivation and whipping.

Though her survival instincts had not been needed for several months, she still knew where the stairs and doors were, so shecould find places to hide and be able to escape. She ran down the corridor and up a winding flight of stairs. They let her out onto the open roof of a tower, and she looked around frantically for a place to hide.

Unlike the astronomy tower, which was flat an empty to accomodate a class of students and their telescopes, this roof had been built to support defenders of the castle. There were buttresses built into the wall, places where supplies and ammunition could be stored, and several places that looked like they'd held fires long ago. Ella crawled into a shadowed alcove and huddled against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off, and she was shaking in reaction.

"Don't let them find me, don't let them find me," she pleaded, not knowing if it was a mantra, a prayer, or a spell. The strange tension rose again, and when it found its release, Ella felt herself falling into a stupor.

After a time, she heard Moira and Hermione's voices, but they came to her as though through a long tunnel. Ella groggily opened her eyes and looked around. She could see Moira and Hermione looking for her, but the light from their wands was absorbed into the shadows hiding her, rather than illuminating them. She rested her head on the cool stone of her hideaway and gathered what little composure she had left. She knew she couldn't hide forever, and maybe Moira would have mercy on her.

She reached a hand out and touched the edge of the shadows that hid her. There was a slight resistance to her hand, but when she pushed against it, it shattered, letting the light from the two wands spill in.

Moira turned her head and saw Ella's hand, and she swiftly crossed the tower to sit down by Ella.

"Hi," she said quietly

"Hello," Ella responded. Moira didn't say anything for a while, and Ella looked up at her.

"Are they all mad at me?" she asked in a small voice.

"No. Worried, a little confused, but not mad," Moira assured her.

"Though it is usually nice to tell a bloke to back off before you knock him on his arse," Hermione said, dropping down to sit on Ella's side.

"I didn't mean to, he startled me," Ella said defensively. She looked up suddenly. "I didn't hurt him, did I?"

Hermione laughed. "Ron has five older brothers. If a little shove like that damaged him, he'd have never survived childhood." She stood and gave Ella a hand up.

"Come on, you don't have to come back tonight, but I at least want Ron to apologize to you for being an idiot."

"He doesn't have to apologize," Ella protested. "He didn't know I don't like being touched."

"So, that still makes him an idiot for holding on to your arm when you froze up like that. Besides," she continued with a grin, "he's a boy, and boys are always wrong. Don't you know the rules?"

Moira joined her in laughing, but Ella was confused. In the rules she knew, boys and men were always right, and there was never an exception. She silently followed the two older girls back down to the Room of Requirement, and Hermione went in to get Ron. When he came out, he looked so chagrined that Ella's jaw nearly dropped. Why would this boy, who was so much older and bigger than her, feel bad? He came up to her and sheepishly met her eyes.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened in there. You had every right to get me to back off, and I hope I haven't scared you away from the DA. I promise I'll not do that again."

Ella shook her head in protest. "No, I shouldn't have knocked you down. I'm the one in the wrong, and I'm the one who should be sorry, not you."

Ron laughed, "Hey, no harm done, and what you did was really effective. That's what the DA is all about. In fact, I've had three or four people ask me if you'd be willing to teach them how to do that."

"I don't know how I did, though," Ella protested.

Ron shrugged and held out his hand for Ella to shake. "No worries, and no hard feelings, right?"

Ella cautiously shook his hand. "No hard feelings," she agreed.

XxX

A/N: I hope I haven't turned Ella into a complete Mary Sue with this chapter…but some of the things needed to be set up, and there was no better way. I hope you enjoy, and thank you to those who review—I love the feedback! -Krew


	41. Truth or Dare

**41. Truth or Dare**

It was another cold, slushy evening in November, and Ella finished her History homework with a relieved sigh. Sylvia looked across the desk at her and smiled.

"Finished with your homework?" she asked

"As finished as it's going to get tonight. I've got everything due through the end of the week done at least," Ella told her.

"Excellent!" She turned to the rest of their roommates and called out, "I think tonight it's time to introduce Ella to Truth or Dare!" There was a mixed chorus of cheers and groans.

"I know what Truth or Dare is, Syl," Ella said.

"Not our version, you don't," Sylvia retorted. Opal had gone to her trunk and pulled out a jar of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. She carried them, held high for all to see, to the table that sat in front of the fire. Ella followed her sisters to the circle of couches and found a seat between Moira and Aubree.

"Truth or Dare, Eagle's Nest style, is played this way," Opal lectured Ella, while everyone settled in. "Each question asked must be answered by every girl in the room, other than the asker. If you do not want to answer, you must eat from the jar of Bertie Botts. The first round you eat seven, and each time, the number goes up. In this jar," she gestured grandly, "is the single largest collection of the worst flavors that Bertie Botts has ever developed. Though you may truly luck out, and that red bean is a nice flavor, like maraschino cherry, it is much more likely to be hot pepper, or something equally horrifying. Each bean you eat must be chewed seven times and swallowed. So the game is: Do you tell the truth, or do you dare to eat the beans?" There was assorted laughter and giggles at Opal's melodramatic wording.

"Who ended the game last year?" Meagan asked.

"I did," Aubree said, "So Rosemary, you're first."

They sat in a comfortable circle, sprawling on couches and chairs. Rosemary looked around the room at her sisters and began the game.

"What is the absolute worst thing you have ever done? To another person, yourself, an animal, or an object."

They all pondered for a moment, and then Sylvia answered.

"When I was six, my mother had this gorgeous crystal lamp that she used only when company came. I snuck in to the parlor and was having a tea party with my dolls, and I decided that they were fancy enough company to use the lamp. When I crawled up on the table to light it, though, I knocked it over, and it just shattered. I grabbed my things and ran and just waited for my mother to find it that evening."

"So that's it?" Meagan asked, "You broke her lamp?"

"No," Sylvia said. "I blamed Trinky, the house elf. My mother gave him clothes for breaking a prized possession and not fixing it. That's the worst thing I've ever done."

She turned to Opal and waited with an expectant expression.

"I broke my brother's arm when he was three," Opal admitted with a grimace. "He'd stolen my toy broom, and when I pulled it away from him, I whacked him with it to teach him a lesson. My mother not only broke my broom for that, she vanished all my toys for a year, and then I had to earn them back one at a time."

"Ouch," Meagan said, "remind me not to make you mad." There was a laugh from the others in the room as Opal pretended to threaten Meagan with bodily harm.

"Well, I'm not nearly as nasty as some in this room," Meagan boasted proudly. "The worst thing I've ever done was cut my sister's hair off while she was sleeping. She had these beautiful blonde ringlets that just make you ill, and I lopped off the braids she slept in after she told me my hair was ugly."

"And you say you're not nasty and vindictive?" Sylvia said with a smirk.

"I'm not, really," Meagan protested. "Hair grows back, and she got to look like Shirley Temple for a while, which did her no harm at all."

Moira was next, but she chose not to answer. She reached into the jar and picked seven different colored beans, and ate them one by one. "Pepper, ear wax, hot pepper, burnt popcorn, sweaty gym socks, grass, and ink," she proclaimed after chewing and swallowing each one. "Water please." Opal passed her a large glass of water, which Moira gladly gulped down.

When they all looked at Ella, she swallowed hard. "I think the worst thing I've ever done, by normal people's standards, is when I was nine. My father had denied me food at home for a week, so all I was eating was at school. One day, when I was walking home, I passed a restaurant with an outdoor seating area. A man had just been served his dinner when he took a call and walked away from the table. I stole the whole plate of food and ran."

There was an uncomfortable laugh as the girls tried to forget the mental image of a slightly smaller Ella being forced to steal food to eat.

"You know," Aubree said after a moment, "I almost want to know the worst thing you did by your family's standards, since apparently they don't have the same ones as the rest of us normal people."

Ella pulled a face and responded. "Why, coming here, of course. I've broken all sorts of rules—I've talked to boys, continued my education, worn trousers, and worst of all, I've done it all without the permission of my father."

The laughter this time was unforced, and Aubree whacked Ella on the head with a throw pillow. "Cheeky girl," Aubree proclaimed.

"Well, what's the worst thing you've done?" Ella asked.

"I've been a very good girl all my life," Aubree replied primly. "The worst thing I've done, by far, is when I gave Avril Mortmen doxie wings instead of fairy wings for her Pepper-Up potion last year."

"And what did that do to Avril?" Rosemary asked.

"Not much. It turned her potion blue instead of red and made her give the loudest belch you've ever heard when she tested her potion, but the rest of it still worked. She didn't even fail the potion—Professor Snape just docked some points." All heads turned to Sylvia for the next question, and she made a big show about choosing it.

"If you had a thousand Galleons to give away, and they couldn't be used on yourself, what would you do with it?" she finally asked.

"I think I'd sink it into research," Opal replied. "There are wizards and witches working to create counter-spells and antidotes to curses and poisons, but it takes a lot of time and money, and maybe another thousand will help them make some breakthrough, before another family dies."

"I'd give it to my mum, for the new Wizarding orphanage she's going to build. It's going to be grand when it's all done," Meagan said quietly.

Moira bit her lip as she considered her answer. "I think I'd give it to St. Mungo's, especially for their long-term spell damage ward. It's such a dreary place, there's no reason for people to get better."

Ella wondered how Moira knew that, but it wasn't the time to ask. She had to figure how what exactly to answer. "I guess I'd give it to my uncle," she finally said. "I don't have any causes to spend it on, and I know that that there are some really expensive potions ingredients out there."

Aubree didn't need any extra time to decide on here answer. "I use it to start a scholarship for students who really can't afford Hogwarts. There's nothing more degrading than showing up here with used everything."

Rosemary finished the question, but her answer raised more questions for Ella—there was so much about these girls she still had to learn. "My grandmother used most of her savings raising my brothers and I, so a thousand Galleons is a drop in the bucket, but it would be a start in repaying her."

"All right, let's drop the serious stuff already," Opal complained. "I want to know the squickiest rumor you've heard, and there can be no repeats. If you can't come up with a good one, as determined by the group, you will eat beans."

The whole group burst into laughter, and Meagan began with a wicked sparkle in her eye. "I've heard that the reason Professor Dumbledore is always so cheerful is because of what he wears, or rather doesn't wear underneath his robes." There were several horrified groans as the mental image of the headmaster with his usual happy smile and a rather lewd swagger crossed their minds.

"Bad mental picture, very bad mental picture!" Rosemary complained.

"Well," Moira began, "I've heard that Professor Flitwick has developed a charm that lets him see through the clothes of female students, and that several times the reason he's fallen off his stack of books is that he's gotten a bit too much of an eyeful."

"Oh, no! I'll never be able to look at him without laughing again!" Aubree shouted.

They turned to Ella, and she was very glad she had something to use. "I heard something very disturbing about Mr. Filch and what he does to his cat that would account for her bedraggled look."

"Disgusting!" Sylvia practically screamed.

"They only get worse," Aubree said wickedly. "I heard that Professor Hagrid strongly recommended our 'head' boy this year, said he could handle anything."

"Aagh!" Opal cried, pulling a pillow over her face. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about!"

Rosemary gave Ella a sideways glance as the laughter died down. "I've heard a rather good one about our own little Ella," she said.

The room silenced almost immediately as Rosemary was given complete attention. "_I've_ heard that when Ella goes to meet with Professor Snape, he's doing a lot more than 'mentoring' her. I've heard she's been earning some extra credit, if you know what I mean."

"Oh that is just wrong," Ella said with a shocked gasp. "That is so wrong, on so many levels, I can't even describe how completely nasty that is." She gave a shiver and the room exploded into gales of laughter again.

Sylvia bit her lip as she tried to remember any other fodder the Hogwarts rumor mill had turned out. "You took all the good ones," she complained. "All I have left is what I've heard the boys do in the quidditch locker rooms."

"Considering that what we hear about is a watered down version of the truth, I declare that doesn't count!" Opal called. There was a quick vote of thumbs up or down, and Sylvia lost. She chewed and swallowed her twenty-one beans, nearly gagging on a few especially nasty ones, and the game continued.

"If you could go on a date, with any boy in the school, who would it be, and why?" Moira asked.

Ella felt herself pale as she realized she was the first to answer. Go out on a date, with a boy of her choosing? She'd never even entertained the notion. How was she ever to choose? She felt herself starting to panic, and forced it down. All she had to do was pick a boy; this was pretend, not real. She grasped the first name that came to her mind. "Dominick Kingslaire," she said quickly. "He's my friend Vivianne's older brother, and he's been nice to me. I think I'd pick him." There were giggles from the older girls but they accepted her answer.

The other answers went quickly around the circle, each girl naming off her current crush or boy of her dreams, and there was not disagreement with their reasons. When Ella's turn came to ask a question, she went with her first instinct for a harmless question.

"If you had to spend twenty-four hours locked in a room with one of our professors, who would it be?" She asked.

"Professor Mithrandir," Aubree said immediately.

"The same," Rosemary agreed.

"Definitely Professor Mithrandir," Sylvia said.

"I'd be locked for any length of time, anywhere with Professor Mithrandir," declared Opal, which caused laughter to break out.

"I'd have to say Professor Mithrandir," Meagan said as well.

"Professor Snape," Moira said quietly, causing everyone to turn to her in shock.

"Why on earth would you choose to be locked in with that nasty, evil, greasy, git of a man?" Sylvia protested.

"He isn't any of those," Moira shot back. "Look, you all picked Professor Mithrandir, either because he's good looking, or you think he could break out of the room, or both. Well, I think he'd waste an awful lot of time and energy trying to get out of a room that would be inescapable, and then would get angry and be in a huff the rest of the time, and be too tired to face whoever opened the door. Professor Snape wouldn't bother wasting his time, so he'd be ready to take on the person who locked us up. Plus, in the intervening hours, he'd be interesting to talk to. If you aren't on the receiving end of his sarcasm, he's bloody hilarious, he's intelligent enough to hold a discussion or debate with, and all things considered, I trust him a great deal more than I trust Professor Mithrandir."

Silence greeted her answer, and there was some uncomfortable shifting. "All right, personal round," Aubree declared, breaking the silence.

"What's that?" Ella asked.

"You get to ask the person next to you anything, and they have to answer, because otherwise it would be thirty-five beans, and testing has shown that no person can eat more than thirty disgusting beans without getting horribly sick for the next three days," Moira explained.

Aubree turned to Rosemary and asked, "Did you really shag my brother last year?"

Rosemary nearly choked as she gasped. "He told you?" she cried out.

"No, he just looked really guilty whenever your name was mentioned this summer," Aubree replied.

"Oh God, you must hate my guts," Rosemary said quietly.

"Only if you tromp his heart into the ground," Aubree retorted. "He's had a thing for you for years, so if you really did shag him, you've given him hope. So, you either need to give the bloke a chance, or you need to tell him it was a mistake and nothing's going to happen from it."

"I promise, I'll talk to him." Rosemary lifted her right hand solemnly.

There was a pause before she turned to Sylvia. "What was in that package you got last week that you hid away so quickly?"

Sylvia squirmed in her seat. "It was instructions and supplies for something I have to do this year," she finally said. "I really can't talk about it."

"Are the items in the package dangerous to us?" asked Opal. "If they are, you need to get them out of the dorms. If the Department of Mysteries raided us once this year, they could again. Besides, it isn't fair of you to put everyone else in danger because of a choice you've made"

"I don't have a choice!" Sylvia yelled at Opal. "This wasn't up to me!"

"Okay, okay, time out," Moira said firmly. "Everyone back off, this is just a game." She went over to her wardrobe and pulled out a potions bottle.

"What's that?" Aubree asked, pointing at the bottle.

"Something that will make all of us chill out and finish the game in fun," Moira responded.

"What is it, fire whisky?" Sylvia asked, a nasty tone in her voice.

"No, that would be illegal for me to have, wouldn't it," Moira responded. "This is a harmless little potion that causes inhibitions and emotional overreactions to relax. It lasts for an hour or so, and leaves you with no hangover. All in all, a good substitute for fire whisky."

She passed the bottle around, and everyone took a drink. Ella could tell when it hit the others because rigid postures and tense faces relaxed and smiles broke out again.

Sylvia turned to Opal and said with a smirk, "I want to see your tattoo."

Opal sniggered and turned her back on the group. She pulled her shirt up, and the waist of her trousers down slightly to expose a Celtic knot of thorny branches that twisted around and under three roses, one in full bloom bracketed on either side with a rosebud.

"Didn't that hurt?" Aubree asked in fascination

"Like hell," Opal replied, "but at the time, I didn't care." She turned to Meagan. "Did the Ministry catch your dad, or is he still on the run?" she asked.

"They caught him, but like all of the people arrested for serving You-Know-Who, he didn't stay in Azkaban long. That's why my mum's still on the run and why I can't go anywhere for Christmas."

Aubree looked piercingly at Moira. "Why don't you ever talk about your parents?" she asked.

"Because I don't like to think about what happened to them," Moira said quietly. "If I talk about them, eventually, someone is going to ask me how they died, and I won't—I can't talk about it."

"But we all know they were murdered," Sylvia protested. "You told us that years ago."

"Yes, and that is all you are going to know, because," and she waved her potions bottle in the air, "I'd need a lot more of this stuff, like two or three gallons' worth, to talk about more. But speaking of painful things," she turned to Ella. "I want to see your scars," she commanded with a gleam in her eye.

"No," Ella said.

"You don't have a choice. You have to," Rosemary retorted. "Eating thirty-five beans will make you sick. It can't be worth that to you,"

Ella was seized with a sudden recklessness. _Why not?_ she asked herself. She'd made the decision to stop being afraid of her scars; maybe it was time to shock someone with them. She stood and pulled off her shirt and dropped it to the floor, looking the circle of girls in the eye. With her head held high, she turned her back to them and presented them with what they'd asked for. Someone gasped, but Ella didn't turn. She stood as straight as she could, not looking at anything until Moira stood and handed her back her shirt.

"Do they still hurt?" Aubree asked.

Ella shook her head. "No, I can't feel anything on my skin from my neck to my knees. They just bother me because they're ugly, and well, they get in the way."

"What do you mean?" Moira asked.

In reply, Ella held out both her arms and pulled them as far across her body as they would reach. "I'll never be a very good witch, because I can't use my wand correctly," she said. She pulled her shirt over her head and left the circle, going to her bed and pulling the hangings closed.

"Game over," Meagan said quietly.

XxX

A/N: Here you are, the next chapter, and I've managed to hold to my (about) every seven day updating. I will be working very hard on the next installment, but you will all have to forgive if it takes a few extra days. I've got a very full week coming up.

In response to Duj: You forgot the first paragraph of chapter 38, where Ella finished all her medications and was fully healthy again, and able to take minor hexes without damage, like everyone else. Thanks for pointing it out, though, because I have been known to put in very large plot holes like that, and I don't particularly like enabling lorries to drive through my plot line. Hope you liked this installment!


	42. Searching for Answers

**42. Searching for Answers**

Saturday morning, Moira left the Eagle's Nest early, before even Ella was awake. She climbed down the winding stairs and entered the pride and joy of Ravenclaw Tower—the library.

The central shaft of the House tower was devoted entirely to the libraries of Rowena Ravenclaw and seventeen of her successors. The shelves extended up nearly five stories, and walkways and rolling ladders reached up into the top of the towering room. The ceiling was an enchanted glass roof, which let in bright natural light without damaging the ancient manuscripts. Moira had once seen the long room library at Trinity College in Dublin, and that had impressed her until she walked through the carved doors to this repository of knowledge.

Her reason for arriving so early was to get one of the enchanted search books, which made the library completely accessible to a researcher. One hundred years ago, a Ravenclaw student had become fed up with searching through stacks of books for an obscure reference. With the participation of every Ravenclaw student, from that day until the present, every book had been indexed, catalogued, and cross-referenced. The result was twenty search books kept in the library.

She opened one of the small blue leather books and wrote on the blank front page. "Medical treatments, scars, reversible damage," she muttered under her breath as she carefully printed the words in the enchanted ink. She closed the cover of the book and waited. While the search book did its work, she indexed twelve pages of yesterday's _Daily Prophet_. It was the constant job of Ravenclaw students to keep the indexes current. A soft light glowed from the pages of the book, and Moira neatly marked the pages she had finished. She opened the cover of the search book, and listed neatly in columns were the books, chapters, and pages that contained the words she had searched. She grabbed a scrap of parchment from the stack always on the table and began transcribing the books she thought would be useful. She marked which books were in the Ravenclaw library and which were in the school library, hoping that her answers could be found without facing the wrath of Madame Pince. When she finished with her lists of books, she drew a neat line through the search words and the pages emptied, ready for the next query.

She climbed various ladders, retrieving a small mountain of books, which she stacked on one of the study tables. She pulled up a chair and began reading the passages the search book had found for her. It did not take her long to realize that most of what she was reading was beyond her comprehension, but at least it gave her an idea of what questions to ask when she went on the next part of her personal quest.

She placed the books on the return shelf, where a house elf would quickly return them to their proper places, gathered up her notes, and left Ravenclaw Tower. Several hours had gone by, but she managed to avoid anyone who would ask her questions. The hospital ward was empty when she entered, for which Moira was very glad. The nurse came bustling out, looking to see who had damaged themselves this time.

"Miss Kelly, what is the problem?" she asked.

"Nothing, Madame Pomfrey, I just have a couple questions to ask you. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

The nurse led her to one of the curtained cubicles and drew the privacy curtain closed.

"Not to sound rude, but wouldn't your office be more private?" Moira asked in confusion.

"They are called privacy curtains and screens for a reason, Miss Kelly. If they are closed, no sound can pass through, and there is no way to open it without rattling the rings. Now, what can I do for you?"

"It's about my roommate, Ella Daffydd," Moira began.

"You know I cannot talk to you about another person's medical records," Madame Pomfrey interrupted.

"Look," Moira said, with exasperation, "I'm not asking you to tell me what happened with Ella. I know about her scars. What I want to know is if you know how badly they interfere with her magical ability."

"What do you mean?" asked Madame Pomfrey in confusion.

Moira sighed, realizing that Ella had likely never told anyone how badly the scars interfered with her daily life. "Ella can't cast spells correctly because the skin on her back is so scarred that it no longer stretches correctly. You didn't know that?"

"I had no idea it was that bad," Madame Pomfrey admitted. "Is that why you came to talk to me?"

"Not entirely," Moira said. "I've done some research, and I wanted to know which, if any of these, would help Ella best, and if you can administer them." Moira handed over the pages to the nurse, and stood quietly as Madame Pomfrey read over her notes, flipping through pages and comparing treatments.

"You've certainly done your homework," Madame Pomfrey said finally. She sat in one of the chairs by the bed and motioned for Moira to be seated in the other. "Why is it you are so interested in helping?"

"She's like my little sister, isn't that enough?" Moira asked. At the nurse's expectant look she continued, "It seems to me that Ella isn't sure that she really belongs in the Wizarding world, and she has interpreted her difficulty with spell casting as proof that she isn't really supposed to be here. When I see someone hurting like that, I want to do something, anything. So, if I can make it better by looking for treatments and talking to you, then I will. It's just the way I am. I can't sit by and watch someone hurt."

Madame Pomfrey was silent for a long time as she looked between Moira and the notes still held in her hand. Moira struggled to remain still under the scrutiny, but it was difficult. Finally, the nurse broke the silence.

"If you are serious, then there may be something we can do, but it will be difficult." She flipped in Moira's notes to a treatment page. "This is the best chance we have of helping Miss Dafydd, but as you can see, it's a potion that must be applied to the scars themselves."

"What's the difficulty?" Moira asked.

"Three things. First of all, the potion must be brewed fresh, so you will have to approach Professor Snape and convince him it's worth the time and effort to create the potion. Secondly, you must get Miss Dafydd to agree to the treatment, as it involves the exposure of something she has obviously tried to hide, and third, and probably most difficult, is arranging the application of the treatment, which will require two very private people to trust each other in a rather embarrassing situation."

"What's that?" Moira asked in confusion.

"The potion we will be applying to Miss Dafydd's back requires exact application to only the effected skin. If any of it touches unscarred skin, it will be permanently damaged. The only person in this school that I trust to have the hands steady and exact enough to do that is Professor Snape."

Moira's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "I don't know who will be harder to convince," she said in a low voice, "Ella, or Professor Snape."

"I'd wish you luck," Madame Pomfrey said, "but you are going to need much more than luck to make this happen."

"I'll let you know," Moira promised. She stood to leave, and smiled suddenly. "At least I have one thing going for me when I talk to Professor Snape," she said with a gleam in her eye.

"And what is that?" Madame Promfrey asked.

"I'm not a Gryffindor with a bad Potions grade." With that, Moira pulled back the curtain and left the hospital ward with her head held high and a purposeful stride.

"I think you have much more than that," Madame Pomfrey said quietly, as the tall girl disappeared around a corner.

XxX

Not one to put off necessary duties, Moira walked down to the dungeons to see if Professor Snape was available. As she arrived outside his office, a student was leaving.

"If he contacts you again, Riley, tell me at once," Snape said from the door.

"Of course, sir," the boy assured him and walked away.

"Professor Snape, do you have a moment?" Moira asked, before he could close the door. He looked down at a silver pocket watch before he answered.

"So long as it just a moment," he said and walked back into his office. Moira followed, closing the door behind her. She stood before his desk, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

"Sit down, and tell me what this is about," he said shortly. Moira sat quickly and crossed her fingers, hoping that he'd not had a frustrating morning.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "Professor Snape, I've come to you this morning because I have a request for you on behalf of Ella Dafydd."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, could this request be?"

"Sir, I'm sure you are aware that Ella came to school this year with injuries she had received this summer."

"And?"

"I found out last night that those injuries are still causing her difficulty. I've spoken with Madame Pomfrey, and she said that the treatment Ella needs will require your assistance."

If anything, Snape's eyebrow arched higher. "And is Miss Dafydd aware you are going around the school discussing her personal business with others?"

_Damn, damn, damn!_ Moira thought. _Backtrack fast!_ "No sir," she admitted, "but it isn't because I wanted to go behind her back, or because I have a desire to discuss private things that are none of my business. You see, sir, I didn't want to give her false hope."

"In what way?" Snape asked, seemingly interested.

"Sir, until a few minutes ago, I wasn't sure there was anything that could be done, not at this point at least. The last thing I'd want to do to that little girl is to give her the hope that she could be normal again and then have to turn around and tell her 'oops, my bad, you're stuck the way you are.' It would crush her."

"You seem very certain of that," Snape said quietly.

"She's been through a great deal, sir, and I don't think she really trusts people yet. I couldn't hurt her that way. Not if there was nothing that could be done."

Snape sat back in his chair and gestured for Moira to continue. "And just where do I come in?" he asked.

Moira felt her hopes rise. If he was willing to listen, then maybe, just maybe, he'd be willing to help. "When I talked to Madame Pomfrey, she said that this would be the best chance for her." She passed the pages of notes across the desk to Snape, the top page of the stack was the treatment Madame Pomfrey had selected.

Again, she was left waiting while he looked over her research. There was very little expression on his face, but Moira thought she could see a very small hint of respect in his eyes. Of course, that could be wishful thinking on her part, as well.

"I assume that I'm to brew this potion?" he finally said, placing the papers down on his desk.

"Yes, sir, but that isn't all." Again, Moira crossed her fingers in her lap.

"What else is there to do?" Snape asked. "You brew the potion, and then apply it to the scars, that's all."

Moira bit her lip and looked up at Snape, waiting for him to realize the other half of the request on his own. When he did, he stood up so quickly that his heavy chair nearly toppled backwards.

"You don't seriously intend to ask me to perform a medical procedure on an eleven-year-old girl?" his voice rang out like a verbal slap, and Moira felt herself flinch.

"Sir, Madame Pomfrey said that you are the only person in the school with hands steady enough to do it right. If it is done wrong, we'd damage her skin forever!"

"Don't lecture me on the results of mishandled potions!" he snapped.

Snape stalked away from his desk as Moira looked down at her hands. If Professor Snape refused to help, she knew Madame Pomfrey wouldn't attempt the treatment on her own. This was Ella's only hope, and she wasn't going to give up yet. She waited, her hands clenched in determination, ready to fight for Ella. She nearly jumped out her chair when Snape spoke from behind her.

"I will agree to this on one condition. Miss Dafydd must come to me to tell me she knows about all the implications of the treatment, and that she is willing to allow me to be the person to perform the procedure. I will not be party to placing her in a situation where she is humiliated or intimidated. Do you understand?"

Moira twisted around to face Snape and looked him in the eye. "I do, sir, and I thank you for even considering it. I will speak with Ella today, and then I will leave the decision up to her." She stood and left Snape's office, forgetting her notes on Snape's desk. She never saw him sit down and look through them again, though this time she would not have missed the respect in his eyes as he read through her work.

XxX

Moira found Ella at lunch. She sat down in an empty place on the bench and hungrily began to eat.

"You were up early this morning," Ella commented. "Couldn't you sleep?"

"I slept fine," Moira said quietly. "I just had something I needed to do this morning, and I didn't know how long it would take." Ella nodded and they finished off lunch, listening to the talk around them, of the weather—a snow storm was moving in quickly, the latest quidditch scores, and complaints about Peeves, who'd spent the morning perfecting his aim of ice-cold water balloons on the heads of students coming down the main stairs.

When Ella got up from her place, Moira swallowed her last bite and followed her from the Great Hall.

"Will you take a walk with me?" she asked Ella.

"It's kind of cold outside," Ella responded.

"It will be fine with our cloaks. Please?" Moira asked. Ella shrugged, and they climbed up the stairs to Ravenclaw to fetch their cloaks.

"What's going on, Moira?" Ella asked as they walked around the gray lake. "You are acting very strangely."

"Ella, I did something today, and I have to tell you about it, but I need you to promise to hear me out before you get mad at me," Moira said quickly. Ella looked up at her, worry creeping into her eyes.

"What did you do, Moira?" she asked quietly.

Moira looked around to be sure no one else was around, and turned to face Ella.

"I talked to Madame Pomfrey this morning, about your back," she began. Ella began to protest, but Moira held up a hand.

"Please, Ella, let me explain. When I asked to see your back, it wasn't to hurt you, and my first thought wasn't about how ugly the scars are, or how much they must've hurt when you received them. I didn't know they were that bad, but I wanted you to know you didn't have to hide them from us. We don't want you to think you have to hide the ugly things about your past. If you talk about them, they don't have power over you."

"Then why don't you tell me about your parents, Moira?" Ella shot back. "I seem to remember you hiding something that night, too."

Moira held out a hand to stop Ella from leaving. "You're right, but we aren't talking about me, or my situation. We're talking about you, hiding the fact that you are having trouble casting spells because of the damage to your back and flipping out if someone so much as brushes against you, for fear of them finding out."

Ella tried to stalk away, but Moira caught her arm. "Let me finish. There's something we can do about them, Ella. You don't have to keep your scars, if you don't want to."

Ella went completely still. "I don't?" she whispered.

Moira knelt down to look Ella in the eye. "There's a potion. It can remove scars, and make your skin look and feel normal again. There's just one problem," she cautioned.

"What is it?" Ella asked.

Moira took a deep breath, and explained. "It is just that, to apply the potion, it has to be brushed onto your back, carefully. So, you would have to let someone touch your back and see your scars." Ella nodded, but Moira held up a hand to stop her agreement.

"That isn't all. When I talked to Madame Pomfrey, she said that the person who would have to apply the potion is Professor Snape, because he would be the only person who could do it right." She waited for another explosion and was very surprised when none came.

Ella looked up through the leafless branches at the swirling clouds that covered the sky. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "What do I have to do?" she asked.


	43. Rapah Shaqah

**43. Rapah Shaqah**

The fortnight leading up to the Christmas holidays was frantically busy for everyone. Students were working until the last minute, finishing off projects, taking tests, and trying to get papers written before the two-week holiday. The professors were no better, as they had to finish grading all of the homework they'd assigned, especially for the older students, who would be studying for OWLs and NEWTs over the break.

The sign-up lists for students staying behind during the holiday were posted, and the pages filled almost immediately. Due to uncertain times and families forced to go into hiding, there were many students who were staying for Christmas for the first time, leaving almost half the school at Hogwarts for the holidays.

For Snape, the last fortnight involved the added difficulty of brewing a temperamental potion that required frequent stirring and additions. So it was that three days before break, he found himself sleep-deprived and needing to add the last, most important, and extremely time-sensitive ingredient during his fourth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Potions class. He realized that there was no other solution to the conflict than to bring his potion to class and deal with it in front of the students.

Severus Snape, holding a class demonstration. "Bloody hell," he muttered, "next thing I'll be providing pre-sliced ingredients so the students can all _succeed_."

The only good thing about the situation was that there were two students in that particular class who enjoyed potions making and who would benefit from the lecture and demonstration. For the rest, well, at least they wouldn't cause problems.

When the twenty students entered the Potions classroom that day, they stopped in shock at the sight of it. The tables had all been moved, creating an open space in the center of the room. There was no potion listed on the board for them to brew, and Professor Snape was standing at a small workstation in the center of the room, waiting over a steaming cauldron. In dream-like silence, they sat behind their tables and took out parchment and ink to take notes.

Snape waited until they were all silent before pulling out a small crystal phial. "By your fourth year of potions making, you should be capable of identifying properties of potions ingredients by the way they are stored. Tell me about this substance." He held out the phial for them to view. There was a drawn-out silence before Moira raised her hand.

"Miss Kelly, what can you discern?" Snape asked.

"That particular ingredient is very expensive, very potent, or both," she began, "because it is stored in a small container—thus one only uses a small amount, or can afford a small amount of the substance."

"You are correct on both counts," Snape affirmed. "What else?" A boy in the Hufflepuff yellow and black raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Allens?" Snape prompted.

"The substance is not affected by exposure to light, because its storage container is clear crystal, as opposed to colored or opaque. Also, the stopper is not sealed, so the substance isn't highly poisonous or prone to evaporating," the boy pointed out.

"Also correct," Snape said. "Is there anything else?"

The silence stretched out as Moira and Roger Allens exchanged glances. When no one offered any other observations, they both raised their hands again.

"Mr. Allens?"

"The substance is not volatile or changed by temperature, as you've been holding it casually in your hand for the last five minutes."

"Miss Kelly?"

"The opalescent sheen that comes through the crystal suggests that the substance has magical properties of its own."

They both could have continued, but Snape was far too aware of the timing of his potion. "As no one else has evidently been paying attention for the last four years, I will not require Miss Kelly and Mr. Allens to continue to make up for your deficiencies. However, everyone except Miss Kelly and Mr. Allens will write a two-foot parchment on how to identify properties of ingredients from visual observation alone." He smirked slightly at the fallen faces of the students. Nothing like a little homework over the holidays to focus the attention.

"The substance you see in the phial in front of you is pure phoenix tears. While phoenix tears cannot be used for harm, they are a restricted potions ingredient. Can anyone tell me why?"

Moira's hand shot up, followed quickly by Roger's. "Mr. Allens?" Snape asked.

"A phoenix only cries in the presence of a major wound. To gather tears for sale, the supplier would have to injure himself badly and then forego the healing offered by the phoenix."

Moira's hand stayed up in the air and Snape turned to her. "Something to add, Miss Kelly?" he asked.

"Yes sir," she answered. "An unscrupulous potions supplier would not have to damage himself, he could take another person and injure him or her, saving himself the pain."

Snape nodded. "That is why the tears became restricted. While there are no laws about sacrificing your own comfort for monetary gain, there are many protecting people from each other. Human nature, sadly, will always take advantage of an opportunity to gain without work or personal sacrifice."

He continued his lecture, discussing the uses of phoenix tears, and class three and four healing potions in general. There weren't many questions, other than from Moira and Roger, but that was what he expected.

"_Rapah Shaqah_ is a healing potion used specifically to restore the skin to a pristine state, especially after a severe injury or burn. The benefit is that it removes all scar tissue and disfigurement. This makes it a very useful potion, but it is classified as a level four potion for two reasons. First of all, in several of the stages it is volatile, and any potion that in its brewing is supposed to be able to blow up is given a higher classification to try and prevent idiots from damaging themselves. Secondly, despite all of the benefits, _Rapah Shaqah_ has one very dangerous side effect. Applied to damaged or scarred skin, it regenerates the skin. If applied to undamaged skin, however, it leaves the skin dead, from which there is no regeneration. The class four rating is to keep idiots from damaging others as well. If anyone who is not a registered Potions Master is found brewing or distributing a class four potion, he or she can be sentenced to Askaban." Throughout the lecture, he prepared the final two steps to the potion. It was these last two additions that would make the potion a success or a disaster. Not that he was concerned about the success; _he_ was the one brewing the potion after all. He stirred in three finely crushed adder's fangs and made the students watch closely as the potion changed color after each revolution of the spoon. When the requisite time had passed, he carefully took the stopper out of the phial. "Phoenix tears are potent things, and a potion never calls for more than two." He tilted the phial and deftly poured exactly two drops into the brewing potion. An opalescent light flared up, and a fresh breeze seemed to blow through the room. Snape glanced around at the students who had unconsciously straightened up, their eyes brightening from the dull glaze of a long lecture. With a dramatic gesture he cast a shield around the simmering cauldron, encasing potion and trapping the misty vapors into a glowing cloud.

"No sense letting any of it go to waste," he said, and dismissed the class.

XxX

The first full day of the Christmas holidays found Ella wide awake at sunrise. She should have been gleefully sleeping in, but the knowledge that the potion was complete and the treatment would begin that afternoon robbed her of all enjoyment from the morning free of classes. She climbed out of bed and sat on the couch, unsure of what her emotions were. On the one hand, she was excited that maybe, just maybe, she could be rid of the scars, but on the other hand, they'd been a part of her for so long, she didn't know how she would feel to be "normal." And though her uncle had seen her all those months ago, it didn't mean that she was really looking forward to lying on a hospital bed with her shirt off, while he treated her back. That fell strongly under the mental heading of "too strange and wrong to really think about."

She skipped breakfast, because her stomach was in knots too large to swallow anything. She thought she'd gotten away with it until just before lunch. Moira came into the room from wherever she'd been and nearly pounced on Ella.

"All right, get your things, we're going," she said with an air of command.

"Going where?" Ella asked.

"First to the Great Hall for lunch, and then to your appointment. I'm not going to let you sit here and worry about it for the next hour and a half."

"It doesn't take that long to eat," Ella protested.

"Nope, you are not dodging out like that. Let's go." Moira scooped up a satchel from her bed and grabbed Ella's arm. She gently but firmly pulled Ella off the couch and out the door.

"I really don't think I can eat anything," Ella said as they made their way down the winding staircase.

"You need to try. It's not good to go into something like you are with an empty stomach," Moira informed her. Ella gave up, realizing that it was a lost cause.

She meekly allowed Moira to lead her down to the Great Hall and ate the bowl of soup and bread that was placed in front of her. The time passed more quickly than Ella thought it would, and long before she would have liked, they were walking into the hospital ward. Madame Pomfrey met them at the door.

"Right this way, Miss Dafydd. Miss Kelly, may I help you with something?" the nurse asked as she led Ella to a curtained bed.

"I'm going to keep Ella company," Moira informed Madame Pomfrey with the same commanding tone she'd used on Ella earlier.

"Moira, it's going to be boring. You don't have to stay," Ella protested quietly.

"You need another girl or woman to stay with you the whole time," Moira said, to Ella's surprise. "It wouldn't be proper otherwise. So, it's either me or Madame Pomfrey, and I think I can help take your mind off of things or keep you entertained more easily than she can." Again, Ella found herself without a useful argument, and she looked at Madame Pomfrey and shrugged her shoulders. It seemed she really didn't have much of a choice.

In the curtained area, Madame Pomfrey handed Ella a gown that fastened up the back. She and Moira politely turned their backs while Ella changed, and Madame Pomfrey made sure she was settled before she went to get Professor Snape.

Ella sat, hugging her arms against the slight chill in the hospital ward as she waited for her uncle. He wasn't long in coming, and Ella greeted him with a small smile. He carefully placed five bottles of an opalescent liquid on the table next to the bed. He pulled the chair up beside the bed and sat down facing her.

"Miss Dafydd, are you prepared for this?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know how I really can be, considering that I don't know what this is going to feel like," Ella said.

Snape took one of the bottles and removed the stopper. He snapped a long, fine tipped brush to the top and held out his hand. Ella looked at him in confusion.

"Give me your hand," he said. "I'll let you see what it will be like, as every person reacts differently." Ella reluctantly placed her hand in his. He turned her hand over and found and small scar on the back. He took the brush and turned it so the potion would drip down the slender tube. When the small bristles were wet, he drew the brush over the scar. To Ella's wondering eyes, the scar glowed faintly for a moment and then vanished, leaving the skin with no trace.

"What did it feel like?" Snape asked.

"There was a slight warmth, and a pins and needles sensation, like just that part of my hand had fallen asleep," Ella said.

Snape frowned slightly. "Research has found that a person's reaction to the potion is the same, no matter how large the scar is. However, the deeper the scar tissue goes, the more intense the reaction is. You must let me know if the warmth becomes too much, or if the pins and needles becomes pain."

Ella looked up at him. "It's a healing potion, isn't it? No matter what my reaction is, it won't permanently harm me, will it?" Snape shook his head no. "Then it doesn't matter. I've committed to having this done, and I don't care how it feels if it works."

Snape nodded in assent. "I had to warn you, because this potion doesn't heal just the surface of the skin. It regenerates all the scar tissue, and on deep scars, the reaction can be intense. You will need to be prepared."

Ella nodded quickly and laid down on the bed. She put her arms under the pillow and rested her chin on top of both. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself. "I'm ready," she said quietly.

Snape laid a blanket over her legs and opened the back of the gown. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted. Madame Pomfrey muttered a spell and made the temperature go up several degrees in the curtained area.

"I'm going to begin at your shoulders," Snape warned Ella, and he moved her hair out of the way. Moira gathered Ella's hair up and put an elastic band around it. She sat facing Ella and smiled faintly.

"What would you like to talk about?" she asked as Snape began brushing the potion carefully over the scars on her shoulders.

Ella had to hold her breath before she answered. This was a little more than intense—the gentle warmth had become searing heat, and the pins and needles were a stabbing pain. She focused on sending the pain away, and when she let her breath out carefully, the first shock had receded, leaving her able to talk normally.

"_Hogwarts, a History_ talks about how there are specific charms to negate desperation magic in the halls of the school. What is desperation magic?" Ella asked, as though there'd been no pause between Moira's question and her response. She looked at Moira and saw that she had a worried expression on her face. "You're the one who claimed to be able to take my mind off this, so talk already," she complained.

Moira's eyes refocused on Ella and a slight shiver went through her. "Sorry, desperation magic. It's the magic that children who are witches and wizards perform without a wand when they are scared or angry." She paused and looked up, realizing that Ella had no idea what she was talking about. "You never made something happen when you were angry, or scared? Broken a mirror, make things shake on the table, got a door to unlock suddenly?" Ella shook her head no, but before she could say anything, Professor Snape's voice sounded from over her shoulder.

"I suspect that Miss Dafydd's desperation magic was all focused inward, rather than out. Due to the amount of scarring present, she suffered a great deal of damage over the years, and I would imagine she healed much faster than would have been expected. It's been seen before in Wizarding children who were abused."

Moira and Ella exchanged glances, and Moira shrugged before she continued. "Anyway, for most witches and wizards, just getting a wand stops desperation magic, because the wand acts as a focus for the power, even when it isn't in the hand—the wand becomes attuned to you, and draws your magic to the core. However, there are some people who still can perform the unfocused magic, thus the wards. They can't chance some angry teenager leveling the school because he or she is in a snit." There was a muffled laugh from Madame Pomfrey, who'd come to check on Ella.

The afternoon hours wore on as Snape worked his way down Ella's back, removing the signs of the years of abuse she suffered. He finished the third bottle and set it down on the table. He sat back in the chair he'd been using and dropped his head forward, rolling his neck to release the tension from leaning over.

"We're going to stop for a while," he said, shaking out his hands and arms. "It isn't good for any of us to go without a break. Miss Dafydd, I want you to walk around the hospital ward three times to be certain your muscles do not cramp from lying still. I will return in an hour." He left without another word, and Ella watched him go with concern.

Moira walked around the side of the bed and looked wonderingly down at Ella's back. "You aren't going to believe it when you see this finished, Ella," she said. "From your shoulders down to your mid-back, there isn't a single scar remaining. It's beautiful."

"Will you do something for me?" Ella asked her.

"Of course, anything," Moira replied.

"Touch the upper part of my back with something. Just very lightly draw something across," she requested. Moira took out a quill and ran the feathered edge across Ella's back.

Ella shivered as goose bumps rose all over her arms and neck. She'd felt the brush of the feathers and the cool of the room. The potion was working.

XxX

When Snape returned, he was massaging his left arm. Without a word, he took his place next to the bed and waited while Ella settled herself again.

"Miss Dafydd, I have a rather delicate question for you," he said after he'd been working for awhile. Ella looked over her shoulder at him, and he continued. "Some of your scars continue beneath your undergarment. Do you wish for those to be removed?"

Ella felt a blush cover her face, neck, and chest. She frantically shook her head. "No, no, that's all right. They aren't that bad. You don't have to do that."

Snape nodded and continued his work while Ella buried her burning face in the pillow. She tried to go back to the conversation she was having with Moira, but her concentration was broken. She almost welcomed the continued pain from the potion as a distraction from her mortification.

The sun had set, and the sky was littered with stars when Snape set down the final bottle. There was a little left of the potion, and Ella realized that he was finished.

"It's done, Miss Dafydd, unless there are any other scars you wish me to remove," he said in an exhausted voice, and Ella knew he was referring to the brand on her shoulder.

"No," she said quietly. "The other scars I have don't bother me the way those did." She held the gown in place as she twisted to face him.

"Sir, there is nothing I can do to repay what you've done for me. Thank you," she said, trying to tell him with her eyes just how grateful she was. He seemed to understand, somehow.

"You're welcome, Miss Dafydd. I regret that I could only remove the damage you sustained, and that there is no way to go back to prevent what you suffered in the first place. I'll bid you good evening." He stood and bowed slightly and left, his usual dramatic walk tempered with exhaustion.

Madame Pomfrey bustled in with a jar of lotion. "Sometimes after a magical healing, there can be after-effects of tingling or phantom pain. Should you experience that, have someone rub this on your back," she said, handing the jar to Ella. "Now, you both go on and enjoy your holiday." She left, and Ella got dressed again.

"Do you want to back to the tower, or walk around a bit?" Moira asked.

"Could we go up to the west tower?" Ella asked. Moira nodded and they made their way through the castle and up to the tower roof where Ella had hid all those weeks ago. They sat silently in the moonlight for a time, until Moira realized that Ella was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ella what is it?" she asked, concerned.

"I'm just happy," Ella said, not bothering to stem her tears. "So very happy."


	44. Christmas Capers

**44. Christmas Capers**

The next day, Ella was surprised when a full-grown kyfflin appeared on the breakfast table.

"What the bloody hell is that!" exclaimed Meagan.

"It's a kyfflin, stupid, just like Ella's," said Moira.

"Ella's cat doesn't appear out of thin air like that," Meagan protested.

"Well, when she grows up, maybe she will. What's it have, Ella?" Moira asked.

Ella detached the vellum envelope that was hanging from the kyfflin's collar. She opened it and slid out an engraved invitation. She had trouble reading it, as the kyfflin was butting her face with its head and generally making a nuisance of itself.

"Enough!" Ella said, and put a firm hand on the kyfflin's back, forcing it to lay down. It rolled onto its back and began kicking gently at her hand and arm, carefully keeping its claws sheathed.

"It's an invitation to a Christmas party," Ella said, handing the heavy parchment over to Moira to read. "Isn't it a little late to be sending out invitations?"

"No," Meagan said, reading over Moira's shoulder. "With fancy things like this, you're kind of expected to cancel other plans. That's why most Wizarding families don't make Christmas night plans until Christmas Eve, on the chance that they get invited to a soiree like this."

"So this is a fancy dress party?" Ella asked.

"Oh, yes," Moira assured her. "The most formal robes you have or can afford."

"Would the robes I got from my cousin earlier this year work?" she asked.

"The blue ones? No, they're summer- to autumn-weight. You need velvet or brocade for a winter party like this." Moira told her.

"If you wrote to your godmother, she could probably pick something out and send it to you," Meagan suggested.

Ella finished her breakfast while mulling over the implications. She knew before she did anything, she needed to talk to her uncle.

She found him down in the dungeons, of course, brewing a potion in his private workroom. She sat quietly, waiting for him to reach a stopping place. She was a little worried when he paused several times to gently massage his left arm. She hoped that he wasn't sore from working on her back all those hours the day before.

"Uncle Sev?" she asked quietly, he started, as though he hadn't noticed her presence. That was also worrying, since she knew he'd been targeted and attacked several times that fall.

He turned to face her, his face a bland mask. "What is it, Ella?"

She handed him the invitation. "I got this today."

He read it over and set it aside. "Well, there's no question; you have to go," he told her.

Ella stared. "I was almost sure you would refuse."

Snape shook his head. "No chance. Not only does protocol demand that you go, but this dinner is being given in your honor, so that leading members of the family may meet the new Lady Dafydd."

Ella felt herself blanch slightly. She normally managed to forget that somehow she was the head of an ancient and powerful Wizarding family. "All right, then I have two problems."

"What are they?" Snape sounded a little amused.

"First of all, you're supposed to accompany me, and you can't leave Hogwarts."

"We'll have to speak to Professor Dumbledore about that, because you're right, they will be expecting me, and sending another professor in my place will raise too many questions," he admitted.

"I know you're going to laugh at me for bringing this up, but the other problem is that I don't have anything to wear. My roommates told me that this would require formal robes, and the only ones I have aren't appropriate for winter," Ella said with a mental cringe.

Snape did laugh, but he kept it short. "I never imagined having a conversation with an eleven-year-old girl about dress robes."

"Twelve," Ella interjected.

His laugh cut off and he looked at her intently. "When did you turn twelve?" he asked.

"The twelfth of December," Ella told him, confused by his manner. Birthdays, especially girl's birthdays were unimportant and hardly recognized, much less celebrated.

"Did you tell anyone it was your birthday?" he asked quietly.

"No, does it matter?" Ella asked. Snape shook his head, but there was still a strange expression on his face.

"As for the robes, what you'll need to do is contact the goblins at Gringots. You can give them permission to go into your vault and select appropriate robes to send to you. They have very good taste, you know."

"How do I contact them?" Ella asked.

"We'll use the magic mirror in Professor Dumbledore's office. Get your key and meet me there," Snape said. He lowered the flame beneath the cauldrons and gestured her out of his workroom.

"Now?" Ella asked in surprise.

"Did you have other plans?" Snape asked. Ella shook her head and set off to Ravenclaw Tower.

XxX

Ella hadn't had the chance to visit the headmaster's office, and the room at the top of the spiral staircase amazed her. She sat quietly as her uncle showed Professor Dumbledore the invitation, and the two men discussed plans. It seemed to her that her uncle had been surprised that the headmaster would even consider his leaving Hogwarts to escort her, but Professor Dumbledore had no argument against Snape's attendance, just his means and methods of transport and security.

"Whatever, however you have to do it, you will go from inside the gates of Hogwarts to an interior location at the dinner. Anything else would foolishly expose you both to attack," Professor Dumbledore insisted.

"I will contact the hostess and have her send our arrival portkey, so that we'll arrive pinpointed at an interior location," Snape agreed.

"I also insist you both carry emergency portkeys, either as jewelry or concealed in your robes, so that you have a better chance of escape should things go wrong," Dumbledore continued.

"While we finish planning this, may Miss Dafydd use the mirror to contact Gingots?" Snape interrupted. "She needs to arrange for her robes to be brought here from London."

"Of course," Dumbledore said, turning to Ella. "It's just over here, I'll make the connection for you." He led her to an ornate mirror in the corner of his office, tapped an intricate rhythm on the frame with his wand, and nodded to Ella when a goblin dressed in a fine suit appeared in the glass. He walked away, leaving Ella facing the impatient creature.

"You are on a secure link to Gringots Goblin Bank," he said. "What do you want?"

"Is Manager Ringot available?" Ella asked, uncertain where to begin.

"The manager of the bank is far too busy to answer the summons of a child. Tell me what you want, or stop wasting my time," the goblin answered with a sneer.

Something welled up in Ella, and she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "The Lady Dafydd wishes to speak with the manager of the bank, regarding items in her vault," she said, putting a touch of imperiousness into her voice. She also lifted the pendant she was wearing, allowing it to catch the light and the eye of the goblin. She didn't know if this was the key to the vault in the sublevels of Gingots, but the goblins had seemed to recognize it the last time she'd been there.

The goblin's eyes widened, and his skin paled, which was not a good look for him. "Of course, My Lady, right away, My Lady," he promised, bowing his way out of the mirror's view. Ella sighed.

Ringot, whom Ella remembered from her first visit to the bank came into view and seated himself at the empty desk. "Lady Dafydd," he said with a smile, "how may Gringot's assist you today?"

"I've been invited to a Christmas feast, I need appropriate robes to wear, and I cannot come to London to select them myself," Ella said, hoping her uncle had been right.

Ringot pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill. He dipped the quill into an inkpot and looked up at Ella again. "Tell me the details of this feast. Who is giving it, where it is being held, the time, everything."

"I don't really know that much," Ella admitted.

"Do you have the invitation, Lady Dafydd?" Ringot asked patiently.

"Oh, yes, right here." Ella took out the invitation and read it out loud for the fourth time. Ringot took notes while she read, and nodded when she reached the end.

"That will do fine," he said. "Now, normally we ask for a wax impression of the vault key as record of permission to enter and remove items from said vault, but if you will read the words on this sign while holding the pendent in view, I will record that, for our records." He held up a large white sign, with letters large enough for Ella to read. She looked it over, to know what she was saying and nodded for Ringot to record. She lifted the diamond from her necklace into view once again, and recited.

"I, Elizabeth Rhiannon Dafydd, do give permission to Ringot, manager of Gringots Bank, and one agent of his choosing to enter my vault and remove the items I have requested."

When she finished, Ringot bowed to her from his place behind the desk and said, "It is always a pleasure to serve you, Lady Dafydd. The items will reach you by secure owl delivery tomorrow afternoon." The image in the mirror faded away, and Ella turned back to Professors Dumbledore and Snape. They seemed to have finished their planning, as well.

"Is everything decided, sir?" she asked Professor Snape. He nodded, but it was Professor Dumbledore who answered.

"Of course, Miss Dafydd. The last thing we need is to set your emergency portkey activator. Pick a word or phrase, and I will set it to trigger the portkey, should you say it while touching the key, and it will bring you safely home."

"Then let that be the key," Ella said, "Safely home. It wouldn't be something that would come up in a normal conversation, so there would be no chance to set it off accidentally."

"Very well, Miss Dafydd. It will be ready for you in two nights, when you depart. Enjoy your break now," Professor Dumbledore said, obviously dismissing Ella. She looked sideways at Snape, shrugged her shoulders in acceptance, and left the headmaster's office. On her way back to the Great Hall, she ran into Moira.

"Did you get a hold of your godmother?" Moira asked, "Is she going to buy you robes?"

"Something like that," Ella said, not wanting to get into the details.

"We're roasting chestnuts in the common room, if you want to join us," Moira offered.

"I'd love to," Ella replied with a smile.

XxX

Christmas Eve dawned bright and cold. Most of the students who were left at Hogwarts joined in a massive snow battle on the Quidditch pitch. It was agreed that wand usage would be limited to first year spells taught in school, but there were many ways to use _Wingardium Leviosa_ to your team's advantage. The teams had been divided as evenly as possible, including year at school, boys and girls, those on brooms and those on the ground, and Houses. The battle was a combination between Capture the Flag and Quidditch. The object of the game was to find and then throw the opposing team's Quaffle through your own central goal.

The mayhem that ensued left everyone covered in snow and laughing, whether winners or losers. The Sorting Hat would have been proud of the group walking back to the castle, discussing the tactics used by both teams. In the Great Hall, they crowded around just two tables to warm up over hot chocolate. Ella was sandwiched between a Gryffindor fifth-year girl she didn't know, and Dominick Kingslaire, who was teasing her good-naturedly for misaiming a spell that had sent a fountain of snow into his face, rather than towards the opponent she'd been trying to hit.

The noise diminished slightly when the day's owl delivery arrived. While presents would arrive on their beds the next morning (according to Dominick), many students were receiving Christmas cards and greetings from far away family. When the four owls carrying a thin wooden box flew through the window, all eyes followed it. The owls gently placed the box on an empty table and waited for acknowledgment. Moira, who was sitting at the end of the table, and thus was able to get up easily, went to check whom the box was for.

"Ella, it's for you!" she called.

Ella climbed awkwardly from her seat to check the box. "It's from my uncle," she lied. "He's sent me robes to wear tomorrow night at that party I have to go to."

"Open it up, let us see," several voices called. When Ella demurred, the calls increased, until she gave up and agreed.

There was a hush as she undid the clasps on the box. She opened the lid and gazed at the gorgeous material inside. She lifted out the dress robes, which were made of a heavy raw silk. It was a pale cream color, and was trimmed with silver and green embroidery.

"Wow," said the girl whom Ella had been sitting by. "That is one heck of a dress. What party are you going to?"

"It's my family, the Dafydds," Ella answered, not seeing a reason to lie this time. The girl's face had a strange expression, as though she'd suddenly recognized Ella, but that made no sense to Ella at all.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" Dominick asked.

"Why do you want to know?" Ella asked him.

"I want to see you all dressed up," he replied with a grin.

Ella blushed and carefully laid the dress back in the box. She went back to her place at the table, but she finished her hot chocolate quietly, confused by her reaction to Dominick's teasing. Vivianne caught her eye from further down the table. The girl grinned at Ella, and made a face at her brother. Ella smiled back, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. When everyone was getting up to leave, the girl sitting next to Ella placed a hand on her arm.

"Would you meet me up on the Astronomy Tower in half an hour?" she asked quietly. "There is something I'd like to give you, privately." Ella nodded cautiously, unsure of the girl's reasons.

"It's nothing to worry about, but what I have for you would raise too many questions," she lowered her voice and glanced around before adding, "My Lady."

Ella's concern vanished, and she smiled. "Will half an hour be enough time?" she asked the girl. She nodded and walked quickly out of the door.

"What were you and my sister talking about?" a voice asked. Ella turned to face Bobby Kanely, one of her former tormenters.

"If you want to know so badly, come to the Astronomy Tower in half an hour and find out for yourself," Ella retorted. Bobby stalked away without a word.

XxX

From a seat in a sheltered corner of the Tower, Ella could hear Bobby and his sister arguing as they rounded the last curve of the staircase.

"What are you doing, Anne?" Bobby demanded. "Grandmama will kill you when she finds out that you gave away the present she gave you only a month ago!"

"Bobby, the chest wasn't for me. She gave it to me to give to someone else."

"And that someone is Ella Dafydd? That stuck-up whiner who can't take a joke?"

"What do you have against Ella that you hate her so much?"

"She's the one who got me and my mates in so much trouble earlier this year!"

Ella could see them standing in the doorway, but they were so busy arguing they didn't notice her.

Anne's voice was shocked. "Oh, Bobby, please tell me she wasn't the girl you hurt."

"We didn't hurt her! It was just a joke, and she got the professors all bent out of shape!" he protested.

"Bobby! Does the name Dafydd mean nothing to you?" she demanded.

"Come on, Ella Dafydd has nothing to do with the Lady Grandmama's always talking about."

"She has everything to do with it, Bobby, and thanks to you, everything may be ruined."

Having heard enough, Ella stood up. A gust of wind caught her cape, pushing back her hood, and sending her hair flying. "That last is not necessarily true," she said quietly.

The two siblings turned to face her, and Bobby's jaw dropped as he seemed to truly see her for the first time. He turned to run, but Anne pulled her wand and pinned his feet to the floor.

"I'll deal with you later," she promised darkly, and then walked up the last steps to stand before Ella.

"Sit down," Ella invited, "it's a lot warmer out of the wind."

The both sat, though Anne waited until Ella had settled back on her bench before taking a seat herself. She looked upset, and Ella had a flash of insight.

_She thinks that I won't accept her family's tribute because of Bobby. _

Ella laid a hand on Anne's arm and smiled at the older girl. "Don't be afraid, I don't hold your brother's actions against you or your family. His choices were solely his own."

"Thank you, My Lady," Anne said with her head bowed. She held out a bundle wrapped in an embroidered cloth. "Please accept this token, the work of our hands as tribute and promise of fealty from my family. I present these on behalf of my Great-Grandmother, Rosemary Ennis, the oldest woman of my line, and descendant of the Dafydds."

Ella took the bundle and unwrapped it. The cloth was a shawl, wonderfully warm, and beautifully embroidered. Under the wrapping was a wooden chest, which had been carved, sides and top, with intricate Celtic knot work surrounding a rowan tree in bloom. The only thing was, Ella could see no way to open it.

Anne smiled slightly at her confusion. "It is a Secret Box," she explained, "the catch and the hinges are hidden so the things you place inside are safe from idle prying. To open it you find the key, and the top will release." She showed Ella the catch, cleverly hidden in the knot work. When pressed, there was the slightest of clicks, and the top swung off to reveal a paper inside, with further instructions.

"Only my mother, who does the catches on each box, knows all of the keys," Anne explained. "The boxes usually have at least three, but the page inside there will tell you how to find them."

Ella closed the box carefully and folded the shawl on top. She took from her pocket a velvet pouch and handed it to Anne. "I thank you for your tribute, and accept your word of fealty. Take this token, which is my blessing, and know that you are recognized as family of the Lady Dafydd." Anne took the pouch and bowed her head in thanks to Ella.

Ella turned to look at Bobby, who was still pinned to the stairs at the Tower entrance. "As for you, Bobby Kanely, I do not hold your actions against your family, but I do hold them against you. You may not have known that I was the Lady Dafydd when you tormented me, but that does not excuse your actions. You owe me a debt, and one day, I will ask to redeem it. Should you not repay me at that time, you will be foresworn. Do you acknowledge this debt?"

He didn't look happy, but Bobby bowed his head. "I do, Lady Dafydd, and I thank you for your leniency."

Ella stood, breaking the solemnity of the moment. "Good then. Anne, let your brother go, and let's go inside, it's really not warm enough to stay out here much longer." She smiled at Anne and picked up the chest and the shawl. "I'll see you around," she promised, and went down the stairs. She hoped Anne wasn't insulted by her quick departure, but she didn't want to make them feel like they had to bow and scrape whenever she was in sight. Normality was a precious commodity, and Ella didn't want to squander it.

XxX

Back in the Crow's Nest, Ella opened the box from Gringot's again. The dress was just as breathtaking on second sight.

"You should put it on," Moira said from the door. "It helps the sizing spells if you wear it a couple of times before you actually need it."

Ella carefully laid the dress on the bed, and took off the jeans and jumper she was wearing. She slid the dress over her head, and Moira stepped up to fasten the row of buttons that went up her back.

At first the dress hung on her, the sleeves trailing on the floor, the hem in a puddle at her feet. She looked up at Moira in concern.

"Just wait a moment. With material this old, the spells work slowly, so nothing gets damaged."

Ella tried to settle the neckline up where it belonged, and finally felt the material begin to shrink. It was a far slower process than when she'd bought new clothes, but eventually it fit correctly.

Moira reached into the box and took out a long belt. It was stiff with embroidery, and set with stones. She wrapped it around Ella, and then held it until the diameter matched Ella's waist.

"Well, go look at yourself in the mirror," Moira prompted.

Ella walked slowly, the only way to move in a dress that heavy, over to the full-length mirror that hung on the wall. The girl who looked back from her reflection startled her. She looked regal, though her hair was tumbled down her back, and she wore no jewelry. Moira came up behind her and gathered her hair up.

"We'll get Meagan to do an upsweep for you, she's really good with hair, and that's the only look that will work. You look so much older than eleven, it's amazing."

"Twelve," Ella said, wondering if Moira's reaction would be the same as her uncle's when she found out that Ella's birthday had passed. It was.

"Twelve? When was your birthday?"

"The twelfth of December," Ella answered.

Moira whacked her lightly upside the head. "You turned twelve on the twelfth day of the twelfth month, and you let it go by without anyone knowing?" she said incredulously.

"Yes, I did," Ella said, offering no other explanation.

"All right, Ella, I think this may be one of those things that falls under the heading of 'the real world versus your family's world' sort of things," Moira explained. "You see, in the real world, birthdays are a happy thing that are recognized with a greeting, and perhaps a present from a close friend. I have the feeling that in your family's world, birthday's are pretty much ignored."

"So what if they are?" Ella asked.

"Well, since you live in the real world now, people will think it strange if you never acknowledge your birthday, and others will be expecting you to remember theirs with a greeting at least."

Ella returned to her bed and waited while Moira undid the buttons so she could slip the dress off. She pulled her clothes back on and turned to face the girl who'd really become her big sister.

"I'm sorry to be such a bother with all these things," she said quietly. "I'm really not trying to be difficult."

Moira gave her a light shove. "If I thought you were, I'd not be helping you. Don't worry about it. After all, what's a big sister for, other than bossing you around?"

"You've done much more than that, and I appreciate it," Ella said with a smile.

XxX

Christmas dawned with bright sunlight, and to Ella's dismay, a near-obscene number of gifts piled at the foot of her bed. Never was she more thankful for her early-waking habits. Even during holidays, when she slept in, she was still awake and aware long before her other roommates. Except, of course, for Moira. Ella glanced across the beds and saw the older girl sitting up in bed, propped against her pillows reading a new book. When Moira saw Ella looking, she smiled and raised her eyebrows to the pile on the bottom of Ella's bed.

"There's more on the floor, you know," Moira pointed out. "I don't think the elves could balance everything on the bed without crushing you."

Ella buried her face in her hands and groaned while Moira giggled softly.

"Would you like some help? I could make up a list for you of who sent what."

"I suppose that would be best," Ella admitted.

The gifts were everything from boxes of chocolates and toffees, to books, paintings, blankets, and trinkets of every size, shape, and color.

"Who _are _all these people?" Moira demanded, as they cleared away the debris of paper and empty boxes.

"They're cousins, I suppose," Ella said, wondering how she was going to avoid explaining things to Moira.

"Wish my cousins would be so generous," Moira complained good-naturedly. "If I get anything from them, it's cheap and falls apart in minutes. What did your uncle send? I don't remember writing his name down."

Ella frowned, and looked around the bed. There hadn't been anything from him, at least, nothing with his name on it. She swung her feet out of bed and her heels knocked against a package that had gotten pushed underneath by accident. She pulled it out and recognized the script on the tag.

"Here it is! I almost missed it." She pulled off the wrapping to find a wooden box. Inside the box there was a beautifully shaped lamp, only there was no chimney. She lifted it out carefully, and Moira sighed enviously.

"A potions light! I've never seen one this close. How lucky you are, Ella."

"What is it?" Ella asked, looking over the glass bulbs.

"It's one of those things that potions masters can make, but most of them consider it beneath themselves. The oil in the bulbs are specialized potions that burn off in different colors. That's why there's no chimney, because you wouldn't want to breathe some of the fumes. The upper glass is charmed to remove the smoke, and refresh it with oxygen, so it will burn, and each set of lower bulbs and wicks will be a different color. What did you send your uncle for Christmas?"

Ella made a face. "Nothing as beautiful as this," she admitted. "I found in Opal's book catalogue a first edition copy of an old potions manual, and I ordered it for him."

"There is nothing wrong with that, Ella, first editions are rare and expensive, and for a potions master, invaluable, to see how a potion has changed over the years."

"I hope you're right, I just couldn't come up with anything better," she admitted.

"Never mind that, let's talk about something far more important. Breakfast!"

The two girls laughed as they got dressed, and on their way out, Moira took a pillow and lobbed it at the still sleeping Meagan.

"Wake up, sleepy-head, it's Christmas!" Moira called. Meagan rolled over and buried her head further under the covers, and Moira and Ella left her to dreams of sugarplums, while they went to find something much more substantial.

Breakfast was a noisy affair, with Wizard Crackers going off left and right over the tables. Ella was able to make her way around the tables to wish Snape a Happy Christmas before she found a place to sit, and loaded her plate with a hearty breakfast. The meal lasted for some time, as late risers made their ways down and the Christmas greetings began all over again.

Ella was glad she'd eaten well, because she found herself kidnapped by Moira and Meagan before lunch to get ready for the feast.

"We aren't leaving until seven!" Ella protested, to no avail.

"That will hardly give us enough time as it is. Stop complaining and get into the bath the elves have drawn for you!" Meagan told her.

Ella felt like a living doll as the two older girls fussed around her, doing _something_ with her hair, though she couldn't see exactly what, since they'd placed her out of sight of a mirror. Moira had taken on the task of manicuring Ella's hands, as she was certain there would be a receiving line, and the last thing, in her opinion, that Ella would want is rough hands and ragged nails.

At three o'clock, when her hair was finished, she was given a plate of food to eat, while Meagan and Moira discussed the need for make-up, and how to apply it without Ella looking like a clown. They agreed on a light blush, the smallest amount of eye shadow, and a gloss instead of lipstick.

At six, they helped her into her gown, made final adjustments to her hair, put on the jewelry that had been in a velvet bag at the bottom of the box, and slid the shoes onto her feet. Finally, seven hours after they'd begun, her two self-appointed maids declared they were finished. They led Ella over to the mirror, and stood back while she surveyed their work.

"Wow," Ella breathed, as she looked at her reflection. The girl looking back at her looked like a queen. Her hair was drawn up and back, then some how looped around in a twisted rope, with fine chains of silver and tiny diamonds wrapped around the thick tresses. Holding it all together were long pins with larger diamonds and emeralds set at the top, giving it all the look of a crown. Around her neck, and from her ears hung more jewels, and the dress cascaded to the floor, the silver and green embroidery seeming to come alive against the creamy white silk.

"You look like a fairy princess," Meagan told her.

"Now all you need is the right cloak," Moira said, and went to her wardrobe. She took out a velvet cloak, lined in fur and draped it around Ella's shoulders. "That will do."

"Moira, I can't borrow this from you," Ella protested, "What if something should happen?"

Both Moira and Meagan laughed. "Ella, with the number of stones you are wearing tonight, that cloak is the least of your worries," Moira assured her. "Now, let's get you down to the Great Hall, and get you on your way." She took the cloak back and draped it over her arm. Then, leading the way, the three girls walked down the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room. Ella knew that the hushed reactions from the people sitting in the common room were only to be expected, and she held her chin high and smiled at her Housemates. There was a general scramble as people got up to follow them down the stairs, and Ella tried to repress a blush at the procession she was now leading.

For once, the staircases all worked in her favor, and she made it to the entrance of the Great Hall, where she was to meet Professor Dumbledore. As luck would have it, most of the people remaining at the castle were heading to dinner at the same time. Ella became the focus for a circle of students until the Headmaster came to her rescue.

"Ah, Miss Dafydd, there you are. Come, come, it is time for you to go and meet your uncle. Do you have a cloak?" Moira handed it to Dumbledore, and the headmaster placed it gently around Ella's shoulders. He offered his arm, and Ella looked up at him, wanting to bite her lip. Was all this attention really necessary?

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily down at her. "Now, now, it wouldn't be right for you to be all dressed up and not be escorted properly," he said gently. Ella placed her hand on his arm and they left the school together, going out into the clear cold night.

"Professor Snape is waiting for you at the gates," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "I thought it better to escort you down to him, and return, rather than raise questions as to why Professor Snape was accompanying you to dinner." They arrived at the gates in not too long a time, and her uncle was indeed waiting, a darker shadow against the gatepost. Dumbledore handed Ella off, and bade them both a good night. Snape handed her the emergency portkey, disguised as a silver bracelet. She slipped it onto her arm, and looked up when he offered her his hand.

"We must be in contact for the portkey to take us both," he explained. Ella trustingly placed her hand in his, and with a jerk, they were whisked away from Hogwarts.

XxX

They arrived in a stone room lit by the flickering light of a fire. The walls were covered with rich tapestries, and the floor by thickly woven carpets. There was a knock on the door, and Snape stepped quickly in front of Ella when the door swung open.

His stance relaxed as the person framed in the doorway became clear. Branwenn Creiddyiad, the witness at Ella's naming, and one of the three councilors who'd governed the family in the absence of the Lady, had come to meet them.

"Greetings, Severus, I trust your arrival meets with your expectations?" she asked in a low voice, which held echoes of humor. Snape nodded and stepped to the side, so that Ella was visible.

"It did indeed, cousin. May I formally present you, Branwenn Creiddyiad, of the Lady's council, to Elizabeth, Lady of Dafydd."

Ella had to take a deep, steadying breath as the regal woman swept into a deep curtsy before her.

"I greet you, My Lady, and bid you welcome to this feast, in your honor, for the celebration of Christmas." Branwenn held the deep curtsy, and Ella truly realized, for the first time, that her position of Lady of Dafydd was not some empty title. To this woman at least, it conferred upon Ella a position of importance and respect.

"Rise, Branwenn, for I greet you, and give you thanks for your service upon my council," Ella said, trying to sound even half as regal as Branwenn had managed.

The woman rose gracefully and smiled at Ella. "There is so much I wish to talk with you about, My Lady, but now is not the time. If you will give your cloaks to Nalea, we will proceed to the feast."

A house elf appeared, her hands open for the cloaks Ella and Snape handed over, but it was unlike any Ella had ever seen. She was clothed, but not in cut down human-styled garments. She was also much more delicately built, and her eyes held a great deal more intelligence and self-worth than the cringing, obsequious creatures Ella knew. It disappeared with the familiar _crack _of house elf apparition.

Snape extended his arm to Ella, and she placed her fingers lightly on his forearm. She frowned at the feeling of thick bandages beneath the sleeve of his robe, and felt the slightest of flinches from the pressure of her fingers on his arm. Ella wished she could ask him how he'd injured his arm, but she knew it wasn't wise to draw attention to a weakness in her Guardian, even in a supposedly safe place. She moved her hand, so that it was resting more in the crook of his elbow as they walked down a long hall.

Branwenn walked on Ella's other side, explaining things she felt Ella needed to know. "I will announce you, before you walk down the stairs, My Lady," she said quietly. "After you descend the stairs, walk the length of the hall to the fireplace. The lights will be extinguished, and then you will light the Yule Log. You do know spells to light things?" Ella nodded, and the woman continued. "That is the official beginning to the feast. You will be seated at the head of the banquet table, and after that, everything should be self-explanatory. If you are uncertain, look to your uncle, or to me, and we will be your guides."

"Thank you, Branwenn, but I am familiar with state dinners," Ella said calmly, sending a wordless prayer of thanks to the headmistress of St. Catherine's School, "but I do appreciate your desire not to create any situations."

They reached the stairs down which Ella would make her grand entrance as the Lady of Dafydd. Snape and Branwenn left her at the top of the stairs, for it was tradition that the Lady ruled alone, and no escort should be viewed as equal to her. She listened as the noise and music in the hall below died down, and an expectant hush fell. From below, Branwenn's voice floated up to Ella.

"Behold, Elizabeth, the tenth Lady of Dafydd, come to grace us with her presence, and to bless our Christmas feasting!"

Ella took one last breath, and descended to meet her people.

XxX

The night passed in a blur of music, dancing, food, and wonder for Ella. It felt like a fairy tale come to life, and when the portkey deposited her back on the lawn of Hogwarts, in the early morning stillness, it seemed like a dream that would fade away. But the weight of silk and jewels, as well as the chest her uncle carried, which held the numerous gifts and tributes given to her, helped her keep hold of the memories.

"Will you be all right, going up to Ravenclaw Tower alone?" Snape asked quietly, as they walked up to the doors of the castle. "It would be best if we were not seen together," he explained.

"Of course, sir," Ella answered, though as ever, she felt the weight of the complex web of deceptions and half-truths wrap around her. She longed for the day that she could acknowledge her uncle in front of everyone, but that day was still in the future. They passed into the empty halls of Hogwarts and Ella turned to face Snape. She smiled up at him and said quietly, "Happy Christmas, Uncle Sev." Snape looked around quickly, to be sure no one had overheard her whispered words. When he was certain he bowed to her.

"Happy Christmas, My Lady."

At that, they parted ways, and the halls of Hogwarts were left to their sleepy silence.

XxX

A/N: My PROFOUND apologies to my readers for the delay in this posting. Unfortunately, the three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are one of the busiest times of year for a music teacher. I promise to work faster on getting the final chapters of this story posted.

Thank you to the people who've taken the time to review, especially the new readers that have found my story. You make writing this worthwhile. –Krew.


	45. Secrets Within

**45. Secrets Within**

January flew past in days that were determined to be gloomy and cold. Ella settled into the second half of the year, glad to be dealing with nothing more pressing or important than classes and homework, with the occasional DA meeting thrown in. But then in February, the residents of Hogwarts came down with the flu.

At first, Madame Pomfrey was not concerned. Every winter brought its share of colds and sore throats, but she quickly realized that there was more to this outbreak than an ordinary virus. For the first time in her experience, the nurse was unable to quickly cure the aches and fever brought into the hospital ward. None of the usual remedies she tried, or any of the unusual ones she had Professor Snape brew for her, made a difference. Rather, students and faculty alike were forced to spend between three days and a week suffering the effects of the flu, with no relief other than painkillers and sleeping potion. The illness passed from one person to the next, and by the time anyone thought of imposing a quarantine, it was too late, for students in every House in nearly every year had caught the infection. As the days passed, the nurse despaired of stopping new infections, as those from the wizarding world had never had to worry about a disease epidemic, and even the simplest procedures for preventing infection was completely foreign to them. Most of the people in castle were living under the attitude that sickness was something that happened to other people, and the surprise and shock when they got sick themselves was only adding to the frustration Madame Pomfrey was suffering.

In Ravenclaw Tower, things were a little more organized than the rest of the castle. Living quarters had been rearranged, and those who were sick, but not in bad enough condition to need the hospital, were strongly encouraged to move to the rooms that had been empty until then. The healthy were discouraged from spending much time in the sickrooms, and only those who'd been through the flu and were healthy again were allowed to nurse the sick. Of course, the problem was that friends of the ill were given to sneaking in to visit, and thus became ill themselves, though the rate the epidemic spread through that House was much slower than the other three in the school.

Classes were held unless the professor was out sick, but many of them were a waste of time, with half the class out sick any given day. But it was decided that it was better to go on living as normally as possible, rather than hiding in their common rooms, waiting to get sick.

Ella hadn't been impacted much by the epidemic at first, but when the three people who were central to her life all came down with the disease, reality came crashing down on her. Professor Snape was the first to get ill, giving her nightmares of what would happen to her should something bad happen to him, but he recovered faster than almost anyone, giving some cause to grumble that he must not be human, or that he was holding out some potion that could cure them all—out of sadistic pleasure, naturally. Ella was one of the few that saw how tired and drained he was from working on new treatments, and she noticed him gingerly rubbing his arm more and more often. She never found the right time to ask him about the injury that never seemed to go away, and it didn't seem to her to be something to bring up in casual conversation.

Moira and Vivianne fell sick within days of each other, and Ella felt torn between her two closest friends, trying to visit both and keep their spirits up, as they had chosen different rooms for their sickbeds. Her worries only increased when Vivianne's condition worsened, and she was carried off to the hospital wing.

"Hey, don't feel bad," Moira protested. "Sure, I like your visits, but I have plenty to do to keep me busy, and I'm feeling better all the time. Go sit with Vivianne. If nothing else, her brother will need the moral support." She shooed Ella out the door of the sickroom, and Ella left with a grateful smile. Vivianne was lying in the crowded hospital ward, with the other seriously ill residents of Hogwarts. Dominick was wiping her face with a cool cloth, trying to keep her fever under control. Ella sat down next to him, but he didn't notice her at first.

"How is she?" Ella asked quietly.

Dominick didn't look at her, but he did answer. "Her fever's really high, and Madame Pomfrey's worried because her heartbeat is really erratic."

Ella placed her fingers lightly on Vivianne's wrist and could feel the unevenness of her friend's pulse. Not knowing what else to do, she took another cloth and bathed Vivianne's arms. Time passed slowly as the girl tossed in fever dreams, flinching away from her brother's comforting touch. Her skin was pale, except for the fever spots on her cheeks, and as the hours went by, her condition rapidly deteriorated. Every time Madame Pomfrey came to check on her, her expression grew bleaker. None of the spells the nurse tried or the potions she forced the girl to drink seemed to make a difference.

As the light faded from the windows, Vivianne's breathing grew labored, and for one horrifying moment, stopped completely. Dominick shouted for Madame Pomfrey, and Ella reached for Vivianne's neck, to see if her heart still beat, desperate to do anything to save her friend. When her fingers touched Vivianne's skin, the strange tension Ella had felt before reached through her, and she collapsed across Vivianne. In the seconds that it took Madame Pomfrey to reach the bed, Vivianne began breathing with a gasp, and her eyes opened. Madame Pomfrey lifted Ella up, but she hung limp in the nurse's arms. Dominick was so engrossed in his sister that he didn't notice the nurse lift the other girl into her arms and run across the hospital ward to one of the few secluded beds left.

XxX

Ella was floating in a gray world of nothingness when a shock ripped her back into consciousness. She sat straight up with a gasp, her eyes focusing on the two professors standing at the foot of the bed she'd somehow come to lie on.

"Vivianne!" she gasped, her last memory being that of her friend's losing struggle to breathe. She looked around, but the screens surrounding her bed prevented her from scanning the room.

"She's fine," rumbled Professor Mithrandir. At Ella's disbelieving look he held up a calming hand. "Truly. Whatever you did, seems to have brought her back to nearly total health, and Madame Pomfrey is moving her out to make room for those who are sick."

Ella looked up at him in confusion. "What _I_ did?" she asked. "I didn't do anything. Or, I don't think I did. The last thing I remember is trying to check her pulse when she stopped breathing."

Mithrandir exchanged glances with Flitwick, and something Ella couldn't read passed between them. Her tiny Head of House walked around to the side of the bed and patted Ella's hand.

"If you're feeling better, perhaps we could discuss this somewhere else?" he asked, with a significant glace at the crowded hospital ward.

Ella swung her legs over the side of the bed, but when she tried to stand, her legs nearly didn't hold her, and she staggered against the bed.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked.

"That is what we'd like to find out," Professor Mithrandir replied. He offered her his arm and she took it, thankful for the support. "Shall we retire to my office?" he offered. "It is closest." Professor Flitwick nodded in agreement, and the two professors escorted her out of the hospital before Madame Pomfrey could stop them.

The short walk to Professor Mithrandir's office seemed unending to Ella, and she was grateful for the chair he motioned her to as soon as they entered. While Professor Flitwick stacked pillows on the seat he'd chosen, Mithrandir called for sandwiches and tea from a house elf. When the food arrived, he handed a plate to Ella, and she ate as though she'd been fasting for a week.

When her sandwich was nothing but crumbs, Mithrandir cleared his throat, and Ella blushed, realizing that he'd been waiting for her.

"Now," he began, "you say that you do not recall doing magic or performing a spell when Miss Kingslaire stopped breathing?"

Ella nodded, biting her lip. _What was going on?_

"Can you remember what you were thinking or feeling at that moment?" Flitwick asked gently.

"I was scared," Ella said, exasperated. "She was dying, and she's my best friend. I wanted to do something, anything to help her."

"Did you reach for your wand?" Mithrandir asked intently. "Anything you can tell us is important."

"What is it you want to know?" Ella demanded. "I can't tell you if you don't ask me the real question."

"Miss Dafydd," Professor Flitwick said gently, making Ella blush from her outburst. "The problem is that we don't know what to ask exactly. All we know is that Miss Kinglaire went from death's door to health in moments, and that you lost consciousness and are as physically exhausted as you would be if you had been fighting a wizard's duel for hours. We are as uncertain as you are."

Ella bit her lip again and looked at the floor, racking her brain for something she could tell them. A fragment of a memory surfaced, and she looked up.

"I don't know if this is anything, but when I touched Vivianne, I felt something inside of me tighten, and then suddenly it was gone. That's the very last thing I remember."

Mithrandir and Flitwick exchanged glances again. "You may be right," Flitwick said cryptically.

"But was it a fluke?" asked Mithrandir.

Ella looked from one to the other. _What were they talking about?_ She suddenly felt like a fly under a microscope when their attention came back to her. She managed to keep from squirming, but only just.

Mithrandir nodded slightly at Flitwick, and the tiny professor leaned forward. "Miss Dafydd, have there been any other times that you've felt that way, times that then something happened, something you wanted, badly?"

Ella looked thoughtfully at her Head of House. What was his reasoning for these questions and more importantly, could she trust him with the answer? She looked at him, weighing the options, weighing her natural instinct not to trust any man against the knowledge that Professor Flitwick, at least, hadn't done anything to hurt her. The silence stretched on as the two professors allowed her to come to a decision, though her silence told them most of what they wanted to know.

"I don't know, not for sure," Ella said quietly. "There was a time when I wanted someone to get away from me, and he did. Then I wanted to hide, and the people looking for me didn't see me, even though my hiding place wasn't _that_ hidden. But I don't know that I did anything to make those things happen. What is going on, Professor?"

It was Mithrandir who answered. "Magic is very hard to study, Miss Dafydd, for you see, there is no physical proof that it exists. We have proof of the effects of magic, but not of the actual existence of the ability. Despite the rude labels used by those who've come from certain Wizarding families, there is no physical test—blood or otherwise—that sets a wizard apart from a Muggle.

"Because of that lack of physical proof, it is very hard to quantify the ability that we term magic. It is only when the ability manifests in a different way that we can better understand it. Study has shown that when a witch or wizard is given a wand, the ability to perform magic without that wand is severely limited. It has to do with the innate magical power of the wand's core. Am I making sense so far?"

Ella nodded, but felt duty-bound to mention, "I don't see what it has to do with me, though."

"I'm getting there," Mithrandir promised. "You, Miss Dafydd, seem to be able to overcome that limitation, as evidenced by your healing of Miss Kinglaire a short time ago."

"But it wasn't healing," Ella protested. "It didn't feel like a healing spell at all."

"What do you mean?" Flitwick asked, his head cocked to the side.

"What happened with Vivianne, it didn't feel like healing magic. I've felt enough of it to know for sure. It really felt more like a counter-spell, or even a counter-curse."

"I believe you to be familiar with healing magic," Flitwick said, "but what confuses me is your claim of being able to tell what kind of magic you used."

"Doesn't everyone?" Ella asked, stupefied.

"Magic is magic, as far as I know," Flitwick replied.

Mithrandir broke in. "You are saying, if I understand, that different types of magic _feel_ different you, and you can identify the type?"

Ella shrugged. "If I've felt it before, I recognize it when I feel it again."

"That's amazing! No, it's even better—it's a breakthrough!" Mithrandir exclaimed. Ella looked at him questioningly.

"Don't you see, no one has been able to explain before just _why_ some wizards excel at one type of magic and not another—for instance, why Professor Flitwick is so talented at charms, and Professor McGonagal at transfiguration. If each type of magic is slightly different, it would suggest that each wizard has an affinity for one or more types, and should not feel bad if he lacks an affinity for something."

"It would also explain why some wizards simply cannot seem to grasp even the simplest spells in a given discipline," Flitwick added.

Ella sat and watched the two professors as they began discussing theories and debating the finer points of this discovery they had made. It seemed so obvious to her that she nearly laughed in disbelief at their utter lack of understanding. Oh, she knew well enough that many scientific discoveries were made by studying that which was abnormal, but she'd not realized until then just how far behind the wizarding world was in terms of technology and scientific learning. She'd read authors who claimed that wizards were trapped somewhere in the Middle Ages in terms of their culture, but hadn't experienced it personally until then.

"But what does this have to do with Vivianne, and with me?" Ella asked, breaking into their debate.

"For you, Miss Dafydd, it means additional training," Flitwick said gently. "Because you have the ability to do magic without a wand, you must learn how to control that ability before something happens that you never intended. As for Miss Kingslaire, she can be glad that her best friend had an unusual talent when she fell so ill."

"But I told you, she wasn't sick, she was cursed!" Ella insisted, bringing Mithrandir's attention completely back to her.

"Cursed, you say?" he asked blankly.

"Yes," Ella said seriously. "I don't think the sickness is a virus at all. Otherwise, Madame Pomfrey or Professor Snape would have cured it by now."

"But if it's a curse," Flitwick said slowly, realizing the implications, "then potions and healing spells wouldn't help."

"It well may be that the purpose of the curse is to prove that we aren't safe at Hogwarts," Mithrandir replied. "What rational government would keep a school open if children are dying while attending? I would wager that if you were to trace this illness back to its start, you would find that it began with children of certain questionable families, but that their bout of the illness was minor compared to anyone else's, except for someone who was having counter-curses applied to him on a regular basis."

Both professors went silent, drawing the logical conclusion: If they were correct, then someone had knowingly or unknowingly used his own child as a plague carrier, to attack the school. Their eyes met, and there was a bleak acceptance in their faces. That kind of callous disregard for life was only too known in the followers of Voldemort.

"There is only one way to be sure," Mithrandir said, and Flitwick nodded as he continued, "We find what counter-curse works, and then use it on the entire school"

"I would ask Professor Snape," Ella suggested.

"Are you accusing him of setting this curse?" Flitwick asked, aghast.

"No, Professor!" Ella said, her eyes wide. "It was only that his bout of the illness was so mild compared to everyone else's lately that he may have used a counter-curse for something else, which also stopped this curse." Ella didn't miss the considering look that crossed Mithrandir's face, but she chose not to mention it.

"So may I go, then? My friends will wonder what happened to me," she said, transforming back into a first-year student.

"Yes, but you will need to return to my office for training one evening a week from here on out, and I would caution you against trying to use your abilities until we better understand them," Mithrandir advised.

Ella nodded seriously, then smiled at both Professors as she took her leave.

XxX

"So what do you think?" Flitwick asked Mithrandir after Ella had left.

"I think that child is going to do some very important things in life, and that she needs to be watched and trained carefully. There is a presence about her that speaks of power, and I, for one, am very glad she is going to be raised to be on our side. However, I also know from experience that I am going to get no closer to her without approval from her uncle, so I am going to go and drop this all on Snape. He has some way to contact the uncle that is faster than owl, so I will leave it to him."

"And what of this curse, if that is what it truly is?"

"I have some ideas of that, as well, but I still need to think them over."

"Think fast; I have a feeling things will not wait."

XxX

The illness left as quickly as it came, and by the end of February, was a thankfully fading memory. Lives quickly returned to normal, though for Ella, that included a new set of lessons to learn and practice. For the most part, the lessons focused on controlling her emotions to prevent unwanted outbursts of wandless magic. She was also slowly learning how to call up her abilities at will and control them, though that control was shaky at best. No one, other than Professors Flitwick, Mithrandir, and Snape were supposed to know about the lessons—yet one more secret for Ella to keep.

XxX

A/N: A post, a post! Hooray for a post! As always, appologies for the lateness in the post, but I am working on the last two chapters (yes only 2 to go!) I hope you enjoy, and again as always, thank you to those who took the time to tell me what you think. Much Thanks! Krew


	46. Running Scared

**46. Running Scared**

It was a cold morning in early April, when Ella awoke to a problem. Literally. She'd gone to sleep the night before, cozily wrapped in blankets, with her bed curtains pulled securely against any drafts, and she woke lying on freezing stone, with a cold breeze blowing across her face.

She tried to sit up but gave up with a groan when a sharp pain shot through her skull and nausea swam through her. There was a noise to her right, and Ella slowly turned her head and focused on the girl tying several brooms together in the dark and cursing as her knots slipped loose again.

"Sylvia?" Ella asked weakly. The blonde girl spun around, dropping the brooms.

"What are you doing awake?" she demanded.

"What are you doing, Sylvia? What's going on?" Ella asked, biting her lip against the nausea. The older girl didn't answer; she just stood staring down at Ella, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Sylvia?" Ella said again.

The older girl shook her head slowly, and the last thing Ella saw for a time was the sight of Sylvia's stylish boot swiftly moving towards her head.

XxX

Her next waking was no more pleasant. Her eyes slowly focused on a natural stone roof above her head and moonlight coming from the side. Instinct took over, forcing down the nausea, focusing beyond the pain, adrenaline pushing the weakness aside. She would have sat up this time, but she realized that she was bound with ropes, her hands tied behind her back and secured in turn to her ankles. Panic rose, and she fought against the knots.

"They won't come loose," a voice said from the side.

Ella craned her neck and saw Sylvia silhouetted against the light. She fought harder, afraid of being hit or kicked again, not willing to take it lying down.

"Calm down, I've no reason to take you out again," Sylvia said nastily.

Ella didn't say anything; she just stared into Sylvia's eyes. As she pushed the panic away, she realized that the things she'd been wearing for bed were bundled in Sylvia's hands, and she hand only her underclothes on under a rough wool blanket.

"Look, it isn't personal. I had to take someone. They wanted me to kill you, but I told them it would be just as good to take you from under their noses. Well, not you, but whoever I took. You were the only person I could get to who was small enough to carry, see?"

Ella was shocked into sarcasm. "Oh, well then, no harm done, you just kicked me in the head and kidnapped me. But, since it wasn't personal, let's be chums."

"Don't be like that. I didn't have a choice. If I didn't take someone, they would have killed my little sister. She's five—would you have me stand aside and do nothing?"

Ella refused to answer. Sylvia continued, her voice growing louder.

"You think you have all the answers, all of you on the so-called side of right. Life isn't as easy as you pretend it is, and sometimes you have to do things that are distasteful. We don't all have uncles that come riding in to save us."

"You won't be able to go back again," Ella said quietly.

"Of course not, but they guaranteed me a place in a school in America. All I have to do is prove I took you, and they'll give me my sister and take us both to our relatives in the States. There was nothing else I could do."

"So, you're just going to leave me here?" Ella demanded.

"Keep complaining, and I will," Sylvia promised. "You think you're so special, with your uncle who's off in exciting places, and your _mentor_ at the school. Well, now you're not so special are you? I'm the one who will be remembered now, as the one who outsmarted the all-powerful Albus Dumbledore, who broke to protection of Hogwarts. You'll only be a side note, the poor little girl caught in the crossfire. Let that keep you company while you wait for your rescue."

"I think I'd rather picture your face when you realize that they'll never let you go, and that you've sold out your precious little sister, because that's what you've done. That will pass the time so much more pleasantly," Ella said with the best sneer she could manage.

Sylvia's face twisted in hate, and she drew back her foot and kicked Ella viciously in the ribs. As Ella gasped in pain, and struggled to draw breath again, Sylvia climbed back on her broom and flew away through the cave mouth.

"That was intelligent," Ella muttered though clenched teeth. "Now what?"

XxX

Snape woke with adrenaline racing through his blood, his wand clenched in his hand, ready to throw a disabling curse at anything that moved. As his eyes searched the darkness and his breathing slowed, he realized that whatever had woken him was not in his quarters. That didn't mean the threat didn't exist; it was just not physically next to him in the room.

He swung out of bed and threw on his teaching robes. In the main room of his quarters he threw a handful of orange powder into the banked fire. It flared brightly, the same as it was in every teacher's quarters.

"Search the school," he commanded. "Something has breached the wards."

His words would send every professor to his or her place of duty, following the protocol of an attack on the school. He put actions to his own command and quickly went to the Slytherins' dorm. A glance at the clock on the wall showed that it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, long after every student should have been asleep in his or her quarters. Using the spells available to each Head of House, he quickly scanned the dorms, noting each filled bed. All of his charges were accounted for. What had caused his alarm?

Before he could relax, or assume that his waking was the result of some vivid nightmare, a silent alarm raced through the halls of the school. Snape ran for the stairs to Ravenclaw, dread mixing with the knowledge of the one member of that House to whom he had ties. His breathless arrival, along with every other professor's only confirmed it. Ella was gone.

The top room of Ravenclaw Tower was filled with people, everyone trying to shout above the rest to make his or her theory heard.

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore finally shouted, bringing immediate silence, broken only by the buzz of rumor in the stairway. "Any student who does not live in this room, out! Any professor without skills in investigation, out! If you live here, sit on your bed and be silent." He stood in the center of the room, eyes blazing, while his instructions were followed. When the press of people had been relieved, he turned to the five girls remaining in the room. Their shocked faces told him of their lack of involvement in the actions of the night, but it was the two empty beds that spoke volumes to him.

"Who was the last to bed tonight, and at what time was it?" Dumbledore asked quietly. The girls exchanged glances, and one of the younger girls raised her hand.

"I was finishing my Potions paper, and I think I turned down the study lamp at midnight, or close to it," she said quietly.

"And was everyone accounted for, when you turned the light out?"

She nodded. "Everyone had gone to bed like normal, and it was quiet, no rustlings or anything when I closed my curtains."

"Does everyone sleep with their curtains closed?" Mithrandir asked, while looking around the room.

"We have to," a different girl pointed out, motioning to the large windows and skylight above, "Otherwise we'd wake up at sunrise because it's too bright."

"Can you track which way the girls went when they left the room?" Dumbledore asked Mithrandir in a low voice. "I want to establish for certain they are together and that this is not some horrible coincidence."

Mithrandir shook his head. "My spells are intended for intruders. There are too many overlapping traces of both girls for me to be sure."

"I can," Rogers interjected. "Or rather, my familiar can. He's better than a bloodhound for following traces."

"Call him," Dumbledore commanded.

Rogers went to the door and made a high-pitched clicking noise with her wand. Pippin, the weta bug that served as her familiar, scurried through the door soon after. Most of the people had grown accustomed to the enormous bug, though some of the girls still flinched back from its waving antennae.

"Pippin, the girl who slept in this bed tonight is missing," Rogers said quietly, kneeling to be on eye level with the weta. "We need to know what happened, and where she went."

The insect made his way to the bed, and scurried up the side. The kifflin, who had been sitting and waiting for her mistress to return, hissed and clawed up the bed curtains to perch on the canopy. The weta ignored her and picked over the pillow and covers, antennae waving rapidly. After a short time it turned to Rogers and began to make various clicking and whistling noises.

"The bed has been empty for less than an hour," Rogers translated for the watching professors. "He scents blood, not a great deal, but some. The girl from the other empty bed stood there," she pointed at the side of the bed next to the nightstand. "Her scent is on the wooden box on the nightstand, as is the missing girl's blood."

Mithrandir quickly crossed to the bed and lifted the small, carved box. "Here," he said, pointing at a corner, "she must have hit Miss Dafydd to knock her out. But why? Why not use a potion or spell, which would have been more effective?"

A girl on the side of the room lifted her head at his questions. "Some of us are very light sleepers, including Ella," she pointed out. "If Sylvia had tried to drug Ella, she would have made some movement, which would have woken me and perhaps others."

"Still a spell, such as _Stupefy_ would have worked," Mithrandir argued.

A different girl shook her head. "She's only a fourth year. She hasn't learned sub-vocalization yet, and if she had shouted that, it would have woken a lot more of us."

"So instead, she clubs Miss Dafydd and carries her off, which wakes no one?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"Ella's grown this year, but she's still small compared to most of the first years. Almost anyone in this room could have carried her, if she wasn't struggling," the girl pointed out.

"But which way did they go when they left?" Dumbledore asked, bringing the argument to a quick end. Everyone turned to watch the weta as it scurried off the bed and out the door. Rogers, Mithrandir, Snape, and Dumbledore followed it without a word.

The large insect paused in the doorway and scented the air, turning one way, then another. Finally it gave one loud click and started up the stairs. The four professors followed up the curving stairs to the roof. It circled around the walls of the turret, stopping several times to feel along the top of the stones, before sending another stream of clicks at Professor Rogers.

"They sat here for a time, long enough to leave a strong scent pattern. There is blood again, more this time, so maybe Miss Dafydd was hit again to keep her subdued. There is no returning path, so they left from here, either by portkey or broomstick. Pippin thinks it was a broomstick, because there is a small trace on the top stones over here, though that isn't exact proof."

"We'll use the tower as the center of a circular grid," Dumbledore commanded. "Every professor who can ride a broom will take three sixth or seventh year students and fly in search. Mithrandir, can you make some device that will be able to detect Miss Dafydd's presence?"

"Not from a far distance, but should they fly over her, they'll know," Mithrandir promised.

"Good enough. Now, hurry everyone—the clock is running."

Snape nearly ran back down to the dungeons to retrieve supplies. From his wardrobe he pulled out a fitted vest lined with slim diagonal pockets—sleeves for phials of potions. Swiftly, he selected his arsenal, sliding the phials into the charmed openings, which would cushion them against breakage—either from force or spell. It was nearly as useful as body armor, which was no small thing in his experience.

With his preparations complete, Snape returned to the Slytherin dorm and woke his sixth and seventh year prefects. Three of the four had avoided ties to Voldemort through no small skill in politics, while the fourth had publicly told the Dark Lord's student supporters to climb a tree, and backed up his dismissal with great skill with his wand.

"What's happened sir?" asked Zelda, the seventh year female prefect.

"We have a situation." All four students flinched, fearing the worst. "A first year girl from Ravenclaw has apparently been kidnapped. We don't know the motive, though we can guess."

The sixth year male prefect, Rupert, pulled a notebook from his pocket. "Who did it?" he asked, turning to the list he kept, of known and suspected supporters of Voldemort who had access to the school.

"Sylvia Kent, a fourth year also from Ravenclaw. From what we can tell, she knocked the other girl unconscious and left from the roof on a broom." Snape answered briskly. Rupert flipped through the pages quickly.

"She's not in here, so this might not be for You-Know-Who. Do we know her political leanings?" He looked up when Quinn, his twin sister and the other sixth year prefect shook her head.

"There's a more important question you didn't ask. Who did she take?"

"Ella Dafydd," Snape said quietly.

"The girl you mentor?" Quinn asked. Snape nodded.

"Then it is either on behalf of You-Know-Who, or it is personally directed against you," declared Aiden, the fourth prefect. "What do you want us to do?"

"The professors are forming search parties, to try to track them down before they make contact with whoever has directed the abduction," Snape said.

"If we found her first, it would do good things for those of us who are trying to keep all of Slytherin out of You-Know-Who's hands," Zelda said practically.

"I'm in," Aiden promised.

"We might as well," agreed Quinn and Rupert in nearly one voice.

Snape felt a knot release inside of himself. He'd not had to resort to bribery or blackmail, both of which were possibilities when dealing with Slytherin. He sent the students to collect their cloaks and brooms then led them out the front doors. They mounted in a diamond formation then flew up to hover by Ravenclaw Tower.

Mithrandir met them on his own broom and handed each a medallion. "The range is not much—one hundred yards at best. But if you don't fly too high, you should be able to get some coverage on the ground. The metal will warm as you get nearer to her, even if she isn't visible. Which direction do you want from the tower?"

Snape looked over and noticed that the wall surrounding the top of the tower had been divided into segments. He turned a slow circle in the air and pointed off over the Forbidden Forest. "That way."

Mithrandir handed him another charm. "This will keep you in your search grid. Follow the straight line out ten miles, then work your way back. If she isn't in that area, we'll start again, from ten miles to twenty."

Snape nodded and motioned for his students to follow him. They flew to the edge of the grounds, where Snape pulled his broom to a stop. The students faced him in a loose semi-circle. "We'll use a wedge formation, each person spaced ten feet apart. Try to fly at a consistent altitude, or we'll not have consistent coverage. If you sense anything, send up sparks. Be wary of traps, and should anything look suspicious, warn everyone and get out." The four students nodded seriously and took their positions. Snape took the lead, and one hour after discovering Ella's disappearance, they flew off into the moonlit night, eyes searching for anything.

XxX

Ella lay still until she was sure Sylvia was not returning. When her mental count reached a thousand, and there was still no sound from the mouth of the cave she took a deep breath and tried to focus the way Professor Mithrandir had taught her.

"I need to get these ropes off," she muttered, trying to summon her wandless magic. "I really, really need to get these ropes off."

During their lessons, Professor Mithrandir had told her that the more she _needed_ something, the more likely she would be able to accomplish what she wanted.

"_After all, it's called desperation magic for a reason," Mithrandir said, sitting back in his desk chair. "All wizards can do wandless magic when they are terrified, furious, desperate. Or, at least they can if they don't think about it. What we are trying to do is refine your skill to command that type of magic—or at least give you a more rational control of it."_

Ella tried to control her breathing, to keep her mind focused on her need to get free, to get away. She tried pulling against her bonds again, and a sob slipped out when the ropes held firm. She was alone, tied up, injured, and _scared_. She forgot all about control and frantically tugged on the ropes.

Suddenly, one rope gave way, just slightly, and her panic turned determined. The rope loosened again, and she was able to contort her arms around her back and over her legs. She bent over and used her teeth to pick apart the knot that secured her hands.

Some time later, as she was rubbing the circulation back into her hands and feet, Ella noticed the two frayed strands that had given way to allow her freedom. Something had rubbed the side of the rope until two of the five strands had snapped, and she felt around until she found the jagged stone that had lay under bound arms and done its work while she had twisted and pulled against the ropes. She picked it up and carried it with her to the mouth of the cave.

Moonlight spilled across the tops of the trees that surrounded the cliff wall her cave was set into. It would not be long until moonset, and that would mean several very dark hours until dawn. She needed to be away before then, or she would be stumbling blindly, or forced to wait until dawn, hoping that Sylvia waited to bring back her accomplices. Ella looked down at the nearly sheer wall of the cliff below her. "So, down is out," she said, her voice shocking her in the silence of the night. She twisted to look up, and saw clearly that there was no climbable path above her either. Sylvia had chosen her prison well, for someone with no wand or broom, but Ella wasn't giving up. She went back into the cave for the wool blanket and the ropes that had bound her. She tied the blanket around her, to protect her at least a little, tucked her jagged rock into a fold of the blanket, and returned to the lip of the cave, armed with a handful of stones.

Roughly three feet in front of the cave, a large pine tree reached out thick branches. Ella threw stones, trying to judge the distance from the wall to the nearest branch. She bit her lip as she looked at the long drop below her. If she missed, Sylvia wouldn't have to worry about her telling tales to anyone.

She cleared the loose stones from her runway, scuffing her bare feet along the rough stone. Sending a wordless prayer up, she backed up as far as she dared, then ran as fast as she could toward the drop-off. Reaching the edge, she leapt, spreading her arms wide, like a diver from the high dive. Her grasping hands brushed the needles of the branch, and she turned, pulling her arms around her head.

Gravity took over, fighting against the springiness of the pine branch. The branch bent, and Ella fell through, landing on the next branch, two or three feet down. This continued, each time dropping her lower, though her speed slowed with each progressive drop. She was finally able to grab on and stop her descent without breaking her arms, or the branch she was holding onto. Her arms and legs were scraped and bruised, but she was alive, and that was all that mattered. She pulled herself toward the trunk of the tree then slowly climbed and slid her way to the ground, where she sat huddled against the trunk, gasping as reaction set in.

When her breathing steadied, she climbed out from under the tree as quietly as she could, and walked determinedly away from the cliff wall. She tried to walk a straight line by picking an object directly ahead from where she was standing, and walking to that object, but it get harder and harder as the little light that filtered through the trees faded away.

"Nothing to do but wait," she decided. If she continued in the darkness, chances where equal that she would walk in circles or straight into some unseen danger. She found a stout stick and several stones and put her back against a tree. She didn't trust herself to sleep on a branch, but should something threaten her, she could hopefully climb up to safety. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the dawn.

XxX

Snape flew as quickly as he dared, the finder held tightly in one hand, the compass charm in the other. They'd covered six of their ten miles, and there'd been nothing yet but unbroken trees. Not that it mattered to the finder, thankfully. The medallion was charmed with a strand of Ella's hair, and it would pull to its like through any substance—stone, metal, or living material. He glanced back over his shoulder and was glad to see his students were still flying in exact formation. He could only hope he was not leading them all into an ambush. His musing was interrupted by a fountain of sparks from Aiden's wand. He turned quickly and waited until the others had reached him, looking for any danger; then he flew to the group waiting for him.

"What do you have?" he asked quietly.

"My finder is indicating something over this way," Aiden waved toward a towering cliff, and as they all turned to face it, they could feel their medallions warming slightly.

"Rupert, Quinn, take a position twenty feet above us and watch for an ambush. Aiden, Zelda, you're with me," Snape said quickly. They flew slowly now, letting the ever-warming medallions lead the way. Suddenly Zelda let out a shout and snatched something from a broken pine branch. Coming closer, Snape saw the long strands of hair, and his gut clenched. He cast a bright light from his wand and the broken trail of branches told their own story, and he flew to the ground almost certain he would find Ella's broken body at the foot of the tree.

The absence of it nearly threw him. He traced his wand in an arc, trying to find any clue to what had happened. Aiden landed just as he saw it—a single footprint in the scuffed needles. Someone had walked away from here, and he could only hope it was Ella.

"Call the others down," he ordered Zelda. "We'll start here and fan out again. She can't have gotten that far on foot."

"It's more than the range of the medallions," Aiden said quietly. "Mine's gone cold again." Snape realized it was true. With the hairs Zelda had found wrapped around her finder, the trace had disappeared. When Rupert and Quinn landed he directed them to fly close to the ground, staying in sight of each other. They flew at little better than walking speed, waiting to feel the warmth that would lead them to Ella, or another sign of her.

XxX

Ella woke in the gray light of dawn with a start. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, and she was disoriented. The sound that woke her happened again. It was a voice calling out from a distance.

"This way! I'm sure of it!"

Ella wasn't sure if it was Sylvia, but she couldn't take the chance. Holding her club tightly, she ran away from the voice, looking for a place to hide. If they were on brooms, a tree was out—it would be too easy to spot her. The voices grew louder, and she could hear three different voices calling to each other now, following her. Then she saw it, a willow with branches sweeping the ground, standing in solitary splendor in a small clearing. If she could just reach it, she could hide behind the branches, and if she made it before her hunters came in sight, they wouldn't know where she'd gone.

She was in such a hurry that she broke cover and ran at full speed for her shelter. Her feet were cut open on rocks and sharp branches, but she didn't notice. She dove through the branches just as a voice cried out,

"No, don't!"

But they were too late, and Ella considered herself safe.

Zelda landed and leapt off her broom, aghast. She'd been so close, but she'd not been fast enough. The others landed just as quickly, and Zelda found herself physically stopping her Head of House with a commanding hand on his arm.

"What?" Snape snapped. "She's there, isn't she?"

Zelda nodded, but just as quickly shook her head. "Sir, you can't go after her. She just ran under the Crimson Willow."

"What of it?" he growled, shaking her hand off.

"No!" Zelda cried, snatching his arm again. "Sir, the Crimson Willow is semi-sentient, like the Whomping Willow on the school grounds, and the Crimson is carnivorous, like a Venus Fly Trap. An animal goes under the branches for shelter, but when they try to get out, it triggers the branches, and they suffocate the victim and draw it to the mouth, where it is digested," she finished breathlessly. Snape was looking at her in horror.

"We are not flies, and I will not abandon her to that fate," Snape said, dangerously quiet.

"Of course not," Zelda snapped, affronted.

Snape walked up to the boundary swept clean by the branches and called out, "Ella? Can you hear me? It's Professor Snape."

Ella heard his voice and spun. Her uncle? Was it really him? She was about to push aside the branches to look when her foot landed on a truly sharp object. She fell to her knees and looked at her foot. It was bleeding freely, and she looked for the stick or stone that she'd stepped on. She saw the blood-stained white stick and pulled it out. She dropped it with a cry when she realized it wasn't a sick at all, but a bone from some animal. Looking around, she realized that the ground under the tree was strewn with splintered bone, layers upon layers, some so old that moss and ferns had grown over them.

"Ella! Don't move!" came Snape's voice, now so clearly his.

"What is this thing?" she cried.

"Don't touch any of the branches unless they touch you," Snape commanded. "We're coming in after you."

Ella froze as the branches of the sheltering tree suddenly sprang to life, whipping in every direction. She couldn't help the scream that was torn from her throat when they reached for her, and swung wildly with her club.

Snape sent another slashing curse into the branches, cutting his way through. The tree dripped red sap, and redoubled its efforts to reach him. From a safer distance, his four students added their own curses and hexes, keeping the tree confused. He followed Ella's increasingly frantic screams, and reached her just as a stick she'd been using as a club was snatched from her hands. He made a desperate grab, and snatched her to his side. Turning, he fought his way back out, hissing in pain as a branch slashed across his left arm, cutting through cloth and skin, nearly to the bone. He held onto his wand through sheer force of will, and ran the last three steps to freedom. He collapsed on the ground, Ella falling by his side. The pain in his arm was blinding, and waves of agony were rolling through him. He hardly felt Ella's attempts to pull his sleeve away from his arm, and her gasp of dismay at the state of his arm—the deep slash cutting through the burned and damaged skin covering his lower arm—but when she ripped part of his cloak and wrapped it tightly around his arm and applied pressure, the focused agony brought him back to his senses.

"Enough," he said through gritted teeth, and pushed her hand away. He tied off the makeshift bandage himself, and pushed to his feet. While he felt as though he was swaying, he knew that long practice would keep him from showing his weakness. He found the four prefects standing watch, each at a different point around the clearing, Rupert up in the air. He gathered his own broom and mounted, pulling Ella up behind him.

"Hold tight, we're getting out of here as fast as we can," he told her quietly. "Ride for the castle!" he called to the others, and led the way, flying as quickly as his broom would carry him.

They flew back over the grounds of Hogwarts just as the sun was rising with glorious colors. Snape waved his students off when they landed, and they slipped away, knowing he would speak with them later, needing no public acknowledgement of their help.

Snape led Ella through the halls to the hospital ward, and pointed her at a bed. "Stay there until Madame Pomfrey gives you a perfect bill of health," he ordered.

"What about you?" Ella said, her hands on her hips.

"What about me?" Snape asked casually.

"You can't walk out of here with that wound—it needs tending," she said determinedly.

"It will be seen to," he said and left before she could say another word.

Madame Pomfrey bustled in right after he left, and descended on Ella. Once she'd been cleaned, her cuts and scrapes mended, and a new uniform replacing the wool blanket, Ella stalked down to the dungeons, determined to let nothing stop her. She didn't even knock on Snape's office door. She simply burst through and stood with her hands on her hips.

Snape didn't even look up from the bandage he was winding around his arm. "Five points from Ravenclaw for rudeness," he said coldly. "Close the door on your way out."

Ella didn't move. The sight she'd had of his mangled arm brought back to mind the time he'd flinched when she took his arm at Christmas.

"How long?" she snapped. He merely looked pointedly at her, then at the door.

"How long has your arm been damaged like that?" she asked again. When he still ignored her, she nearly screamed in frustration. Then an idea flashed into her mind, and she drew herself up regally, pinning him with a pointed stare.

"Severus Davigan Snape, I am not asking as your student, or as your niece. I am commanding you, as your liege lady to tell me how long you have been hiding that." Her voice rang with authority.

"Why don't you say it a bit louder," Snape drawled. "I don't think all of Gryffindor Tower heard you.

"I'm waiting," Ella snapped. Somehow she knew it was the only way to get through to him. She crossed her arms and prepared to wait him out.

The silence dragged on for minutes, Ella glaring at Snape and Snape looking back at her with a blank face. _I'm not letting you win_, Ella thought at Snape. _Not when it means you continue to suffer._

Snape was seething inside, but he knew he'd lost as soon as she'd spoken as the Lady. It was a command he _could not_ disobey, no matter how much he fought it.

"Since I left Voldemort's service," he said quietly. Ella's start when he spoke gave him a slight feeling of satisfaction.

"Let me see it." Again, it was that voice of Command that he could not deny. He slowly unwrapped the bandage and allowed her to see his arm.

The Dark Mark was as raw as ever, and the burned and cracked skin surrounding it was cut through deeply by the slash from the Crimson Willow. She hissed in sympathetic pain but stepped closer and rested her fingers against the unbroken skin surrounding the mangled flesh.

"What sort of curse is this?" she asked quietly.

Snape shook his head. "Mithrandir hasn't figured that out yet. His strongest counter-curses hardly touch it."

Ella looked quickly up at him. "Counter-curses?" she said disbelievingly. "He's been treating you?"

Snape nodded with an ungrateful expression on his face. "It was that, or he'd report me to Madame Promfrey, and I spend too much time dodging her treatments as it is," he said grudgingly.

Ella bit back a curse she'd heard some of the older boys in Ravenclaw use. Mithrandir had acted so disinterested back in February when she'd talked about a counter-curse stopping the progression of the "flu" that she'd never even considered that he'd been the reason Professor Snape hadn't been as sick as the others. She said nothing but narrowed her focus only to his arm and the injuries there. Breathing slowly, she reached for the feeling that healing spells had and imagined it laying over the skin that lay before her. Snape tensed but did not pull away, and suddenly, the skin was whole, though the Dark Mark still stood out in bold relief. Snape looked at his arm in disbelief.

"Well, that worked better than I thought," Ella said with surprise. "I wonder if it has to do with the fact that you're my Guardian and I need you strong and well."

Snape just looked at her, his eyes dark and searching.

"I imagine I'll have to do that again," Ella said quietly. "I wonder if I did that, while Professor Mithrandir used his counter-curse, if that would make any difference."

Snape jerked back. "Don't say anything to him. Don't even hint that you know about this." He gestured to his arm. "No one knows, and if he finds out you know, it will raise too many questions. You can't do this again; it's too dangerous."

"So is leaving your wand arm damaged," Ella snapped. "I won't say anything yet, but if you keep on being stubborn, I will. And that's a promise." She turned to stalk out of his office but stopped with her head bowed as guilt overwhelmed her.

"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't be like this, not when you saved my life. Forgive me." She looked up through her lashes and saw his look of disbelief.

"There is nothing to forgive, Ella," he said quietly.

"There is plenty. I've not even thanked you for finding me, for risking yourself to save me, for exposing yourself to danger by leaving the grounds." Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath. "Thank you, sir, for all of it."

"It was only my duty," Snape said.

"It was far more than duty, and we both know it," Ella said quietly. "But I'll leave you, sir, since I'm sure you have a long day ahead of you." And she left his office in silence, to face the questions of all those who knew of her abduction and rescue. Leaving him to stare into emptiness, her simple thanks and trust shaking the foundations of the world he'd lived in for twenty years.


	47. What Appears to be an Ending

**47. What Appears to be an Ending**

After the drama and trials of the spring, the end of the year slipped by with almost boring normality. Ella kept her promise to Snape not to speak with Mithrandir, though she watched him closely, determined to force healing on him again if he needed it.

The end of year exams were heralded in with varying degrees of panic throughout the Houses and were met with varying degrees of success. Ella was sure she passed all of hers, though she was also sure she was nowhere near the top of any of her classes. She'd continued working with Professor Mithrandir on her wandless magic, though she made no further progress in controlling her ability.

The DA had met all year, though it seemed in vain, for there were no attacks on the school. There was a collective sigh of relief that lasted until they realized that the most vulnerable time was coming—the train ride home. Harry Potter and his other deputized leaders drilled everyone in tactics and spells until they were ready to drop, though they felt cautiously certain they could fend off most attacks that would come on the train. After all, the children and younger recruits of the Death Eaters would be on the train as well, and that would provide some measure of safety.

The leaving feast arrived, and to Ravenclaw's dismay, Gryffindor again took the House Cup, though they had managed a close second. Ella could tell from the focused looks on the faces around her that the start of the next year would again bring logical suggestions and recommendations for earning points and taking the House Cup away from the two leading Houses. She almost sighed at the thought of it.

Ella spent most of the leaving feast not looking at Snape. Though she'd not been able to spend the time with him she would have liked, at least she'd been able to _see_ him every day. Now, it would be two long months away from her uncle, and she wasn't quite sure she could take eight full weeks of Shelly's perkiness, though that had been tempered by sleepless nights with the new baby. Shelly's letters since little Rafe's birth had been short—written in the short times he was sleeping and not demanding her complete attention. When she rose to leave, she met Snape's eyes and returned his solemn nod, the only farewell they could offer.

She climbed the long stairs to Ravenclaw Tower, only half listening to Vivianne as her friend chattered happily about her summer plans. Her attention was drawn back quickly as Vivianne's words sunk in.

"Well, I won't get to go to the summer house of course, since it was destroyed, but my mother promised that we'd get away without trouble. I do wonder where we're going, because she hasn't even given any clues, and she usually does. Oh, well, I guess I know soon enough, won't I?" Ella looked closely at her friend and realized that her friend was covering worry and stress with her idle chatter.

"I'm sure you'll have a great summer, Viv. Your mum just wants to surprise you, that's all," she said with forced sincerity.

They parted at Vivianne's room, and Ella promised to ride with her on the train the next day. Ella finished the climb up to the Crow's Nest and walked into the room, avoiding looking at Sylvia's bed, as she always did now. No one in the room spoke of Sylvia's betrayal, but the silence spoke volumes. Sylvia's things had been packed up or thrown away, and her bed was stripped and empty. Ella flopped down on the couch, not ready to finish her packing yet. She looked up when Moira dropped down into the seat next to her.

"All right, Ella, we've waited long enough," Moira declared. Ella looked up in confusion. Moira nodded towards Sylvia's bed, and Ella realized that the rest of her roommates were waiting around. "You haven't dealt with what happened yet, and you need to, or this room is going to become haunted for you."

"What do you want?" Ella snapped, struggling for control.

"Good," Moira said, standing up and dragging Ella after her. "You need to get mad. You have every right to scream and break things and we are going to give you the opportunity." She pulled out a flask and passed it around to everyone. When it reached Ella, Moira pointed stared at her until she took a large swig.

"This isn't your same potion you gave us before," Ella accused Moira.

"Nope," Moira said, taking a swig of her own. "This is a little mixture I call crazy juice. Let's go." Taking Ella's arm firmly in her hand, Moira marched her out of the room and down the stairs, with the rest of their sisters following. By the time they reached the third floor corridor where the Room of Requirement hid, Ella was feeling strange indeed.

"What's in this stuff?" she asked, stumbling a little.

"Nothing you want to know about," Moira assured her. They crossed the tapestry three times, and a door appeared. Moira opened it, and Ella stumbled crossing the threshold. It was the Crow's Next, but all of Sylvia's things were there, neatly on the shelves, her favorite pillow propped just so against the headboard.

Everyone stood around once the door closed. "Now what?" Ella asked, looking around.

"Now you take dose number two, because you aren't crazy enough yet," Moira said, handing Ella the flask again. Ella shook her head, but Moira tipped it back and Ella had to swallow or choke. They flopped down on couches, and Ella couldn't help looking again at Sylvia's belongings.

"Go on, you know you want to," Moira egged her on.

Ella was drawn to Sylvia's bed as iron to a magnet. She stared down at Sylvia's collection of porcelain figurines sitting on the bedside, and before she realized what she was doing, she grabbed one and threw it across the room. It shattered on the wall, and the girls gave a cheer.

"Go on, Ella! Give her what she deserves!" someone yelled.

Time became a blur to Ella, and later she couldn't remember everything that happened. She seemed to recall destroying things left and right, screaming and crying at the same time. Her sisters cheered her on, helping when she couldn't destroy something herself.

When she came to, they were back in the real Crow's Nest, which Ella only recognized because the fourth four-poster bed was standing and whole, without feathers escaping through the rents and tears in the pillows and mattress. She turned with wide eyes to Moira, and the older girl smiled at her.

"Do you feel better now?" she asked.

Ella nodded slowly. "Promise me you won't make me drink anymore of that stuff," she begged.

Moira smiled gently. "It was only spiced apple cider, Ella. You provided the craziness yourself."

"What!" Ella cried.

"It's a dirty rotten trick, I know. But you needed it, Ella. You needed to get angry, to allow yourself to blame Sylvia for what she did, and so did the rest of us. We couldn't do it until you did, though, because you were the one who was wronged. Do you forgive me?"

"Spiced apple cider?" Ella asked again, and Opal nodded.

"She did it to me last year when my da died. Sometimes, your brain gets stuck on hold, and you need to jumpstart it to deal with whatever the issue is that you can't face. It's funny though, even though we all knew it was Moira's trick, it still effects us, because we let ourselves go, to support you." She shrugged, but Ella noticed an innocent expression cross Moira's face. It was just a flicker, but Ella had her suspicions. Maybe her drink had just been apple cider, but she wouldn't put it past her to have slipped something else to the others. She let it drop, though, because she was grateful for Moira's help. She did feel better, as though a great weight had been lifted off; and when she looked over at Sylvia's bed, it was just a bed, waiting to be filled by someone else. It felt good to know that.

XxX

The next morning, pandemonium covered most of the school, as students tried to corral suddenly stubborn familiars and pets into carrying cases, crammed last minute things into over-flowing trunks, and queued up for the carriage ride to the train.

There were exclamations of surprise as older students read the letters restricting the use of magic that summer. Apparently, it usually didn't mention permission to defend oneself or others, including Muggles, from magical attack by any means necessary. The Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station on time, with everyone aboard. Ella found herself back with Vivianne, Dominick, and their friends from the train ride in the beginning of the year, but this time, Ella didn't find herself tongue-tied. She happily discussed Margo's translation of her grandmother's book, and took turns with Viviane teasing Elliot about his latest crush on another girl in Hufflepuff. She took her turn patrolling the train corridors with the other DA members, casually making her way up and down the long length of the train.

The ride was uneventful, and thanks to the patrols, there was even fewer high jinx that usual. The sun was setting as the Express pulled into Kings Cross station. Students piled off the train, and Ella gave Vivianne an impulsive hug.

"Have a wonderful summer, Viv."

"You too Ella. It was quite a year, wasn't it?"

Ella smiled and she waved good-bye to her friend. _You have no idea_, she thought as the milling crowd swallowed her up.

XxX

A/N: It's done, it's done, it's done! La, la, la! Sorry, I'm just glad to reach this point because I never thought I'd make it. Ella's story is not finished, nor is Snape's. There will a sequel, but please be patient, as I have towrite it down. I hope you've enjoyed my story, and thank you again to all who have read, replied, and reviewed. I am honored by your compliments, and I hope I've applied your constructive criticism well. Thanks again to my magnificent Beta, Aren, for all the time and effort she went through to polish this up and make it readable. Trust me, a good beta is worth his or her weight in gold.

Blessings to you all! -Krew


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